Apologies for the massive delay. I expected that I'd be able to update more since I had more free time in the evenings with my student teaching and all, but I didn't realize I'd be so exhausted and want nothing more to sit on the couch and not move until bedtime. Plus this just doesn't feel the same, so I'm having a hard time finding the words to give you all a worthy update.

I'm touched by the memories you've shared with me about your families. It's nice to read the great times you remember and I'm honored you shared them with me.

As always, mucho gracias to Feisty for betaing, and to Sarah and Beth for being my muses and encouragement when I'm ready to delete this story for being utter crap, and to the UU bitches that make me giggle. You know who you are.

Twilight and everything related isn't mine, but you already knew that.

('Believe'- The Bravery; 'Pale Horses'- Moby)

EPOV

Sometimes life throws you curveballs. Things start to go nicely, and then things turn into one big fuck my life.

I don't like even thinking ill of the dead, but right now, as I was sitting at kitchen counter, I was about ready to curse Charlie Swan for making my life more difficult.

I'd been riding on the high from last night, feeling more relaxed than I have in ages from a fan-fucking-tastic handjob of all things, and pretty goddamn happy that I'd worked my magic on Bella and given her a good time, too. The way her hand had felt around me… fuck, I had to stop thinking about it or I'd sport wood all day, and that was just too uncomfortable for me, and more than likely too awkward for Bella. We'd helped erase the dark residue of the nightmares that plagued us, if only for a little while.

Waking up next to her didn't bother me as much as it should have, since I was on the job here and this was not standard protocol in any sense. We both knew that this wasn't supposed to happen, but my words about taking it slow had completely gone out the window at this point. I knew I was a whiny child in trying to convince her to stay in bed, but it felt so fucking nice to have her curled against me. I wasn't ready to lose that moment or feeling, and if I were a wishing man, I could have forgotten the real reason I was in her house to begin with and imagined waking up next to her was only a small piece of a happy life together.

Damn, I was a fucking pansy around this woman.

No specific words were said about the night before, but the implication of what we'd done was considered in every action. Breakfast was sweet, with a few chaste touches and glances filled with unspoken words. I was warring with feelings I haven't had in… probably ever, and I wasn't ready to sit down and dissect them yet. I didn't think I was ready to face whatever was going on inside.

When Bella called for me and showed me the file she'd found, the one Pete whatever-the-fuck kept calling and asking about, I welcomed the distraction. This could be a crucial piece of the mystery of why I was hired to protect Bella in the first place, and the sooner I could erase the threat from her life, the easier she could breathe and—what? The easier it would be for us to be together without the guilt? Was that what I was hoping for when this was over? I was not a "forever" kind of guy, but fuck if I didn't at least consider something more… lasting with Bella. Goddamn. If Esme could hear my thoughts, she'd probably choke with joy over me finding a relationship that has lasted more than a couple of weeks. Of course, Bella and I couldn't be considered a relationship, and I was technically working, but Esme would consider those mere technicalities.

Never in a million years would I have thought about anything remotely permanent with a woman, especially one I was hired to protect. Bella was beautiful and smart, and she could give me shit back as good as I gave it to her. She was shy and quiet, but there was a fire inside her that would burn hot with temper, or, like last night, simmer with sexual heat that she didn't flaunt but subconsciously wielded like a fucking vixen of the highest order.

The file, Cullen. Focus. I'd seen photos and notes when I'd taken the file from Bella but hadn't taken a good look at anything. I'd felt a little lightheaded when I realized that this could be the thing, the big thing that could just maybe help fuck over the Francis organization and erase the worry from Bella's eyes.

I opened the manila folder and looked at the first page. It had a couple of scribblings on it, what Bella had read when she'd opened the folder herself. There were a couple little things about drugs and money, questions that looked like Charlie had written down to ponder before he forgot:

What are they producing in the house? Meth, weed, cocaine?

Why Forks? Seclusion, availability?

Money. Mom's birthday.

Mom's birthday? Why in the world was that in there? I didn't think the Chief would be unprofessional in the least, but why in the world would he write a reminder about his mother's birthday in a case file he was putting together? The picture painted of him by Bella and Emmett was that he was a straight-laced, by-the-book type of guy, and writing something like that didn't follow the pattern. Definitely something to ponder. Maybe Bella would understand, and I made a mental note to ask her later.

Next were the photos. I shuffled through them, examining the images: a house that was surrounded by trees, a few guys outside with shady looks and loaded guns, more than likely on patrol. A nondescript black sedan with men getting out of it, the next shot a close-up of the same car and men, and I recognized Leonard Francis getting out of the back passenger seat. We had a file of him back at the main office, many shots from other failed stings to catch him at whatever he was currently doing in those woods in Forks.

"Well, I'll be damned, Chief," I murmured to myself. "How'd you manage to get these photos? Is that how they found out it was you looking at them? Did they look back?" I shuffled through three more pictures, Francis walking into the house, our good buddies Prick and Asshole from before walking behind him, and one more of the house after they'd gone in. I felt a little excitement at knowing we'd found something, that maybe Chief Swan's notes would bring us closer to finding and busting these fuckers.

Of course, the fuck-my-life moment came just then. Chief Swan had notes. He had pages of notes behind the photos. But since Chief Swan clearly didn't want anyone knowing anything about what was in the file besides that he couldn't remember his mother's birthday, he'd written them in code. Yes, fucking code, and not one I was familiar with. Some letters looked like actual letters, only pointy, and some were just symbols. I stared at it, hoping it would somehow rearrange itself into something I could actually read, but I nearly went cross-eyed trying, to no avail.

"Well color me surprised. Fuck. You're killing me, Chief, you're fucking killing me," I muttered, shuffling through the papers in hopes there was something in plain English, some little clue to make my life easier. Nada. Everything was in this pointy script. I sighed and ran my fingers through my hair, clenching the strands and trying not to yank them out in frustration. I stood and headed back to the Bella's bedroom, where she'd remained after handing the file over to me. She'd seemed curious enough about what was inside, but the memories of the other things in the box the file had been in had a stronger pull on her. She was still grieving, so I let her have her time while I studied the contents of the manila folder. I hoped she was okay with the interruption, and I prayed she knew something about the code her father used.

She was sitting on her bed surrounded by books and trinkets. She looked lost in memory but wasn't crying, thank goodness. I knew it was normal to cry when grieving, but I didn't know if I could have maintained my patience over Charlie's coded notes and a weepy woman at the same time. She looked up when I stopped in the doorway and gave me a sad smile.

"It's only a few things," she said quietly, touching the cover of one of the books, which looked like it had something to do with fishing. Must have been her dad's. "But it's still pieces of Mom and Dad that remind me of so much about them."

Ah, hell. Coded notes would have to wait. I would suck it up for a few minutes and let her get some of it out. I will not be an insensitive prick, I chanted to myself. Yeah, I was on the clock right now, but the mushy pansy in me wanted to be the sensitive type that listened to her feelings. That and being impatient with her while she was in this state would probably do more harm than help. The hell. I went for lightly mushy. "What stuff is there?"

She nodded and picked up the book she'd touched. "Dad left a couple of fishing books here once, and I never managed to return them. Always slipped my mind." She sniffled, but I didn't see any tears yet.

She picked up a misshapen lump of clay, something that could have been a cup or vase, if not for the sagging side. "Mom's failed pottery attempt. Flowers never survived in it. They always bent and died." Ah, so I was right. Well, Renee could get an A for effort at least. She sniffed again and swiped her fingers under her eyes quickly, checking for tears. "Anyway, did you need something? What did you find in the file?"

I frowned. "Some pictures and your dad's notes."

"Yeah? Great! Anything good, anything helpful?"

She looked so hopeful that I didn't want to burst the bubble. "Uh, hell if I know. They're in some kind of code."

She looked befuddled for a moment like I'd gone crazy, before realization dawned in her eyes. "Oh, yeah. I totally forgot Dad liked to do that when he needed to write stuff out that he didn't want others to know about. He liked things simple usually, but he used a code for some stuff."

A ray of hope cracked through. "Okay, I get that. Do you know how to read that code? What kind of language or whatever it is?"

"I know what it is, but I can't read it. I have a book to translate it, though," she replied, scooting off the bed. "Besides the romantic classics stuff I loved, I also enjoyed The Lord of the Rings trilogy when I was in college, and I became fascinated with the languages." I followed her out of the bedroom and down the hall to the living room while she spoke. "I bought a book that explained the different languages used, and old alphabets from which he based some of them." She bent down and scanned the shelves of a bookcase, using her finger as a guide. "Dad found one simple enough for him to learn and use, but one that no one who didn't know better could break. Hmm." She frowned slightly, scanning the shelves again.

"What?"

"It's not here. Dad must've borrowed it."

"Meaning?"

She turned to me, and her eyes were heavy the sadness and grief again. "It's at my parents' house. If you want to crack that code, we have to go to the place they died."

~*~

She didn't want to go. Who wants to go to the scene where your parents died, where you watched them die? Watching it happen was horrific enough, but revisiting, seeing the destruction and everything that had been affected as a result and remembering, that was just torture. The scene of my parents' deaths had been erased hours after the accident when the area had been cleared by the police for clean up, but I still had a hard time being near that intersection, going through it. I avoided it when possible, especially at night.

She had to go though, had told me as much when I said it could wait, so that we could hopefully break the code and find out whatever we could to put her parents' killers away for a long time. I admired her strength and hoped that I could help her stand it if it got too tough. I suggested maybe Emmett should go, or maybe even Jake since he was a close family friend.

"No, I can handle it. No sense in taking the extra time to wait for them to get there, then call me and wait for me to describe it, then wait longer while they stare right at it and still not know where it is," she said wryly. "I love my brother, and I love Jake, but it would be quicker going ourselves. Besides, I can't avoid the place forever. That kind of denial… that's our family home. It wouldn't be right to ignore it forever. Sure, it'll suck to go today, but life goes on, yeah? Confront the pain or it won't go away or some nonsense like that."

"There's a fine line between confrontation and masochism, Bella."

She leaned up and brushed her lips across my cheek. The electricity between us when we touched tingled through me. Would I ever get used to it? I hoped not. "I know. It's been long enough since I've been there, and really, Emmett and I would have to go back to pack their stuff up eventually anyway, so I might as well be prepared for that."

Bella didn't complain when I handed her the standard vest that I made her wear every time we left the house, nor did she protest when I told her I'd drive us there. She gave me the address, and I plugged into my GPS. It shouldn't have been hard to find the house in a tiny place like Forks, but I hadn't been there enough since high school to remember every street and turn.

When the GPS ran out of directions to spit out, we ended up in front of a modest two-story house. The white paint on the front was smudged with smoke, and a giant plywood board was nailed across what I assumed used to be a picture window on the first story. The two windows on the second story were boarded up as well, and scorch marks ruined some of the shingles on the porch roof and the grass of the front yard.

I looked to Bella to see how she was holding up. Tears were in her eyes, and she was breathing heavily through her mouth as she stared at the damaged front of the house. The door had managed to stay in one piece, though it sported its own black burn marks.

"Bella, we don't have to do this. It's too painful. We'll figure it out. We can look it up online or something, okay?" I assured her gently, grabbing her hand with mine.

She shook her head, gripping my fingers like a vise. "No. I can do this; it's fine. I'd have to come back sometime, and this is important. So we do it now." She let go of my hand and pushed herself? out of the car. I turned the engine off and got out slowly. She stood in front of the car and surveyed the damage. I could still smell the slight tinge of burnt wood and paint in the moist Washington air.

Bella seemed to gather herself and began walking towards the empty house, her stride gaining confidence as she went. I caught up to her as she reached the front door and waited while she pulled the key from her pocket and slid it into the lock. Taking another breath to bolster herself, she pushed the door open. The air was stale, the burnt smell a little stronger than on the outside. She flipped a switch, and the small entranceway was illuminated. It was small but clean, and to the right was a doorway that led into the living room. Faint rays of weak light leaked from the edges of the plywood nailed on the outside, offering little illumination. Bella flipped on another switch just inside that doorway, and lamps flickered to life next to an old recliner and behind a stand that held the TV.

The couch had been a victim of the explosion as well, the top of the back singed and torn from the flames and glass that had assaulted it when the window against it had shattered. The edges of the windowsills were blackened a little as well, the faded yellow of the walls untouched by destruction. An empty curtain rod hung above the barren frame, the only evidence of curtains that hadn't survived. There weren't any visible pebbles of glass anywhere, leading me to believe that someone had cleaned it up. I wasn't sure if Bella and/or Emmett had done it, or if it had been charitably done by the police to spare them the horrifying task.

I looked to Bella for the next move, wondering if this was where the book we needed was kept. She was looking at the worn recliner in the corner opposite the couch, facing the television, her eyes filling with tears again. This must have been the Chief's chair, her father's place to sit and unwind after keeping Forks safe every day. My heart shared her grief, knowing what she was going through. Going home after a tragedy so violent was extremely tough, more so when it was the very scene of the tragedy. I reached out and touched her fingers briefly, and her fingers wound around mine again, trembling with the emotion she was trying to keep in check.

"Dad used to sit there every evening and watch sports. There was always something on, one sporting season or another," she said quietly, using her free hand to rub under her eyes for moisture that had spilled over. She let go of my hand and walked over to the bookshelf next to the TV stand, scanning each shelf from top to bottom before selecting a red and black book from the second shelf. "Here it is." She flipped it open to a dog-eared page and turned it so I could see. The familiar pointy shapes were the same as in the file, this time with corresponding letters beneath them.

"Yep, that's exactly what your dad used," I agreed. I took the book from her and tucked it into my back pocket. I laid my hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes, still shining with tears she fought not to shed. "I'm so proud of you for coming here and going through this shit to get the book. This had to be the hardest thing you've ever had to do in your life, and it proves that you're so fucking strong, Bella. Remember that, okay? You're a survivor, and you're not alone."

I cupped her face in my hands as her eyes closed and the tears flowed. I placed a lingering kiss on her forehead before gathering her to me and letting her cry out the pain.

~*~

Once she had cried herself out and apologized profusely for falling to pieces–which I told her to cut the fuck out because she had every right to be upset—she took one last look at the living room before declaring it was time to go. I thought she might want to see a couple of other rooms and venture further down memory lane since she seemed to be in the reminiscing mood, but perhaps seeing the living room was taxing enough for one day. I mean, finding the file was a big deal enough, but having to come to the shell that housed her family must have put her at her limit.

I kept my arm around her as she turned the lights off with one last glance around the room, and waited patiently while she relocked the front door. Taking her hand, we walked in silence back to the car, Bella now clutching the book in her free hand after I handed it to her. I helped her into the car before sliding into the driver's seat and heading back to Port Angeles. She didn't look back at the house as we pulled away, but I had a feeling she didn't need to, that the memory was forever etched in her mind.

"Do you need me to help you decode the notes in the file when we get back?" she asked quietly. She was flipping through the book, looking at pages that had other weird shapes on them, other foreign alphabets made up of curlicues and dots and lines.

"No, you don't have to. Work on your book some more," I replied, giving her a small smile. She tried to return it, but it didn't have much sincerity behind it. "Seriously, I can work on that, have Jasper take a look when he wakes up later. I don't want you to worry about it."

"Edward, of course I'm going to worry about it," she said, exasperated. "This is the file that Pete's been practically stalking me about, the file you refuse to let me tell him about so he'll leave me alone. This is the file that got my parents killed. If you won't let me help, will you at least keep me updated? Or you can work on it in the dining room, and I'll work in there too so I can keep up with what you find out." She ran a hand through her hair in frustration. "I can't just be left out of the loop on this. There's too much riding on what's in that folder for me not to worry."

I held up my hands while we waited at a stoplight in downtown Forks. "Fine. I'll work on it and let you know what's going on when I figure it out. I wasn't trying to discount your feelings on it. I just didn't want to add to your stress."

"Too late," she muttered. "It's already been added to; there's no sense in trying to pretend it's not there."

We spent the rest of the ride back to her house in silence, both of us lost in our own thoughts. I couldn't say where her mind was specifically, but I thought it was with her parents, back at her house. Maybe she was thinking about the file, or maybe about why she was the target of the Francis family. My mind was thinking back to my parents. I wasn't thinking about the accident specifically. I was thinking about the Seattle Symphony concert before, about my mother sitting with me at the piano as I played as a child. My dad letting me play with his stethoscope, listening to the muffled thump-thump of his heart underneath the circle placed on his chest.

I thought about high school graduation, how they missed out on my first girlfriend, my fucking stellar report cards, my acceptance to college. Carlisle and Esme were as good a pair of people you could ever want for your parents, but they weren't my parents. They weren't the flesh and blood that had raised me from birth, wanting and hoping and dreaming like Edward Sr. and Elizabeth Masen had. It's not that I didn't love Carlisle and Esme, or that I wasn't grateful for all they'd done for me and Alice, but I had a love for them more like one would for an aunt and uncle, not parents.

We made it back to Bella's house without incident, and I was thankful because I'd let myself get distracted on the way back. I could usually put the memories in a compartment in my head and focus, but seeing Bella's pain and how it paralleled my own made it difficult this time.

When I pulled into the driveway and saw an unfamiliar car in the driveway, I held a hand out to stop Bella when she reached for the handle to get out. "Do you know that car?" I asked her, slipping back into guard mode.

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, it's Carlie's car. She sometimes pops in for a visit once in a while. I'm glad she came by. Meaningless girl talk is just what I need right now." She snickered.

I nodded, and she left the car, letting us into the house. I heard a sniffling sound, like someone was crying, and Bella looked confused as we entered the kitchen. Carlie was sitting on a stool at the kitchen counter, wearing jeans and a UDub hoodie, her black hair in a messy pile on her head, her eyes wet and red. She dabbed a crumpled tissue under her eyes and jumped up when she saw Bella. Jasper was sitting in the stool beside her, looking tired and disheveled in an old gray t-shirt and flannel pants.

"Carlie, what's wrong? What happened?" Bella asked, instantly concerned by her friend's behavior.

"It's Jake," Carlie replied, her breath hitching as the tears got ready to fall. Bella gasped and looked anxious.

"What about him?" Bella's impatience was starting to show as Carlie tried to compose herself to finish what she was trying to say. I laid a hand on her shoulder to help center her before she made Carlie cry harder and we'd never find out what was wrong.

"Bella, I think Jake is cheating on me!"

Never fear, it's not what you think. ;) All in good time, lovelies, which I hope won't be forever like this update.

I'm on Twitter, like everyone else in the free world. You can catch me at KnittingVamp7 on thur, too, though I can't guarantee I'll be as exciting as other authors.

If you're interested, the code Charlie uses and the book Bella had that he got it from actually exist. It's the runes alphabet from Britain, and I use it myself for some things I don't want people reading. The book is called The Languages of Tolkien's Middle Earth, by Ruth S. Noel.

Have you ever forgotten your mom's birthday? And what color would 'surprised' be?