Phew!

Right, hello there! Just turned midnight, and I am very tired (no surprises)

I am very super duperly excited to announce that Claire de Lune is getting translated into German!

EEEEEE! Exciting! I haven't asked her permission, so I can't put her name up now, but anyway, very exciting!

As always, thank you so much for the reviews!

I'm on holiday now, so keep 'em coming and I might be able to post again by tomorrow or Monday night!

WARNING: This chapter contains info about medical stuff which I'm not entirely sure of, so don't go quoting me eeek!

Anyways, please

REVIEW!

and

ENJOY!

Edward. He was back. He was here. He was back...

He strode into the room, his movement just as I remembered. His fists were tightly clenched. My breath was taken from me as I remembered how safe and warm my hands had felt in those same fists...and how his hands had been gentle, but confident. He was wearing black track pants and a fitted white t-shirt. Somehow it didn't look like uniform on him. On his wrist I saw a black wrist band I hadn't noticed before. There was something attatched to it...some sort of intricate design. I wondered what it was...

But then I finally looked at his face. His strong jaw and chiselled features were tense, but they were as I remembered. His lips were a straight, almost bored line. And his eyes...the same green I had learnt so well in those few moments, deep and infinite. I wanted to look into them again, as I had done, I wanted to explore more...but he wasn't looking at me. I shut my eyes and exhaled, trying to remind myself that I hardly knew Edward Masen.

He was standing at the front of the class, his hands now behind his back. Mrs. Gerran was already sitting at the piano, a quiet smile on her face.

Eliza had been trying to get my attention. I glanced at her. 'Thank God' she mouthed to me, then grinned. I gave a weak smile back. Edward was here, and so my abnormal curiosity might be satiated. But then, Edward was here, and after all that had happened, after he'd walked out, could I even look him in the eye?

He now cleared his throat, looking out at the class. "Good Afternoon, class," he said. His voice was the same authoritative sound, though it seemed so business-like. The last time I'd heard him speak was when he had been talking to Tanya in the dining hall. Then his voice has been angry, and tense. Now it was just blank.

Whilst I had been thinking, everyone else had stood up, and they were now chorusing, "Good Afternoon, Sir."

"Sit for a minute," he said. I exchanged another glance with Eliza as she sat down again, what was this going to be about? Edward stepped forward, a serious look in his eyes. "As Angela's class I believe you have a right to know how she is," he began in a heavy tone. I sat up straighter. He had more information about Angela? His jaw was taut as he continued, "In falling she managed to break her collarbone. Normally it wouldn't be so bad, but the bone has been displaced." He swallowed. His expression was still calm and controlled, but I saw the tension. "She got out of surgery a few hours ago..." He rubbed his chin, as if deliberating something, then looked back to the class. "At present, they think it'll take her four months to heal."

I felt tears spark to my eyes. What my friend was going through...pain throbbed dully in my head, as it had been all day. I ignored it, just thinking of Angela. Ballet dancers were injured all the time; it wasn't rare, even though at Force there weren't that many. But if I myself wasn't allowed to dance for four months...it would be terrible. Angela loved ballet. I'd seen it in her face, and in the way she worked. And of course missing four months of classes would mean she would fall far behind us...I pulled my knees up to my chest, staring at a speck of dust on the floor.

Edward exhaled and clapped his hands together, "Positions, please!" He frowned suddenly. I saw who he was looking at. "Who are you?" He asked, walking over.

Peter, who I'd thought to be rather shy, now stood up straight, his chin raised. "Peter Davidson."

Edward's eyes narrowed, "You're a second year. Why are you here?"

"I'm Miss. Swan's partner," said Peter.

I waited for some reaction from Edward, some tiny show of something at my name, but he just looked Peter up and down very slowly, studying him, then looked behind him, out the window and off into the distance. He seemed caught on a thought, just for a few seconds. He snapped back to the class. "Hurry up!" He said, returning to the front of the class. "Promenades!"

I stood up. A horrible wave of pain crashed around my head. My vision was shrouded again by yellow. I pressed a hand to my forehead. Oh God! Then it began to clear again, and the pain left me with one final stab. I took a deep breath and hurried over to Peter. The piano had already started, and he quickly put his hands on my waist.

Nerves thrummed in my stomach, even though they had no reason to. It felt strange to have Peter's hands on me when Edward was here. I knew why; everything that I lacked in my partnership with Peter – the emotion, the connection, the...passion – I had had when I'd danced with Edward. And now he was here, in the very same room, and it seemed as though the feeling I had had on that day was so close, but out of reach.

I swallowed, telling myself to just forget it. "Promenades!" Edward called, "And five six seven eight and step up two three..." I stepped up onto Pointe. My head swirled as Peter began to turn me. I felt that nauseous lump deep in my throat. "Miss. Mallory, stand up straight!" Edward circled Lauren and Tyler, adjusting their hands and pushing Lauren up taller. "One more promenade then down into courus for eight counts! Five six seven eight and down! Courus right!"

I felt dizzy as I made the tiny courus. "Where are the arms?" Edward demanded. Peter's hands went away from my waist, and for once I felt I needed them. I tried to breathe in as I raised my arms to fifth.

"And arabesque step and up! Keep control!" Edward ordered, exasperation in his voice. I glanced in the mirror. He was looking at the whole class, his hands on his hips. I looked at them as well. Even with my horrible state, I had to admit Peter and I were looking pretty sharp. Others wobbled or let down their legs. Violet was gripping her partner's shoulder. I felt like slouching over Peter's hand which lay on my belly, my head felt so heavy. Toughen up, Bella! I yelled at myself. I took a deep breath and lengthened my neck. I had to keep my composure, I was doing okay, I was fine.

"And now down, four two steps forward and into pirouette!" It seemed like pirouettes were the worst thing I could possibly do right now, but I launched into the fast spin, Peter's hands ringing around me. Nausea was tugging at me now, in my belly and my throat. Oh God... "And out into developpe!" I stopped the pirouette, and wobbled dangerously. Come on! I lifted my leg out in front of me, still bent. "And stretch out! Hold it! Keep holding!" Edward gave an exasperated sigh. The piano stopped.

"What the hell," he began, walking between the dancers to the front of the class, "do you think you are all doing?" His lips were pursed, hands still on his hips.

After a few moments, Eliza eventually stepped forward and said, "we didn't really have to...you know, worry about it with Madame Wright."

Edward folded his arms, "so you're entirely reliant on your teacher, Miss. Richardson?"

Eliza bit her cheek, looking guilty, "I guess..."

Even though he was only addressing her, everyone felt guilty, and he knew. Edward sighed, running a hand through his messy bronze hair. He looked out at the class. I'd noticed all along, but hadn't thought properly of it; he never looked to where Peter and I were.

"None of you will ever succeed in ballet if you have to have someone to make sure you're keeping to the standards," he stepped forward, looking at my class. "It doesn't matter if you don't have your teacher, or if you're tired, or if you're frustrated," a muscle in his jaw twitched, "there are no excuses. You dance to your standards and when you reach them you set higher ones. You never lower them, you never get complacent and for God's sake, you never get sloppy!" My class was silent, his words sinking into each and every one of us.

I looked at Edward, feeling something stir in me. He was so very right.

He held his gaze on the class a few moments longer before letting his folded arms drop to his sides. "Rows of three," he said, "we're doing combinations, and if any pair performs sloppily then they will do it again until they get it right." He raised his chin and clapped his hands, "hurry up!"

"Someone's touchy," muttered Lauren as we all went to the back.

"You in particular, Miss. Mallory," Edward murmured from the front of the studio, looking nonchalantly at his black wristband, "should be thinking about standards. I'm sure Mister Crowley is sick of have to push you round your pirouette."

I glanced at Tyler. He was looking down awkwardly. Lauren huffed and went to the back of the rows.

Edward gave himself a little smile before looking back at us. "Alright, first combination. Ladies courus up for eight, arms second to fifth. Then arabesque. Gentlemen run up and catch the arabesque. Ladies curl the working leg around a little. Promenade and finish." I pictured it in my head quickly. "First line up! Mrs. Gerran," he nodded to her, and she began a slow tune. "Five, six, seven, eight. Slowly, Miss. Andrews! Feel the music! Mister Smith, keep your feet in, good and plie down to finish. Next group up!"

Nerves suddenly shot through me. Only three pairs – he would have to look at me...that doesn't matter, he's only your teacher...just your teacher, Peter is your partner, you are just his student...

"And next group!" The dizziness suddenly returned as I échappéd to pointe. I raised my arms, going from outstretched to above my head and back down, as if flying. I couldn't wobble, not now. My head throbbed; I could see little lights dancing around the room. "Miss. Stanley keep your posture! Arabesque!" I held my breath and let my leg up. Peter gracefully ran and caught me in the arabesque, then turned me around. I had to keep my head straight, though it felt like the insides were spinning.

Remembering the next move, I quickly curled my leg around Peter, effectively circling his waist. I could feel the heat from his body.

"Mister Davidson..." I glanced up at Peter's name. Edward was frowning at me and Peter, his eyes avoiding my face. It was the first attention he'd shown me all lesson; I was more excited than I should have been. He studied our position. I glanced in the mirror behind him, and saw myself, arms reaching out, leg bend in a curl around another dancer. And I saw Peter, his hands on my waist, standing with perfect posture, his eyes straight ahead, completely blank.

I refocused on Edward. He took a breath through his nose and looked away from us, the muscle in his jaw twitching ever so slightly. "And plie," he said to the windows, his face still tense as Peter and I plied and then rose up again. I tried to work out his expression, but the sparkling lights had returned, glimmering around everywhere. The stabbing in my head seemed to go in time, as did the horrible swirling in my stomach. I shuffled to the side of the studio and back to the line.

"He missed the promenade," muttered Peter, already in line.

I nodded, but I didn't really care. My headache pulsed insistently hard at me, probably worsened by my confusion about Edward.

We performed several more combinations, with many stops and starts for other pairs as Edward went over details. But every time Peter and I performed, he watched passively. There wasn't much to correct. Peter was, of course, flawless. And I was managing to keep composure. But my headache was getting worse.

"Right," Edward said eventually. Lights sparkled around him. I gripped the barre as I swayed. Oh God... "Now we'll move on to four pairs at a time. Four ladies one side, four gentlemen the other. Tour jetes across, crossing over so you swap sides. Second time come halfway across to meet your partner. Sidestep into a line. Développé right, two steps and grand battement, then développé left, same thing. Leap right, leap left. Pirouettes, then finish passé out to développé." He grinned at the class, "Now we will see who's been listening." He clapped his hands, "first group up!"

As soon as I could, I turned my back and fully leant on the bar. I had the horrible sick feeling that I used to get when I spun around too much on the tire swing at school. But I had mastered the dizziness from pirouettes ages ago. I tried taking deep breaths in, out, in, out...my vision fogged up again, the pain increasing in my head. I bit my lip and held out until it cleared. "Next group!"

"Bella," Peter said. I turned around. I was going to be fine...I quickly recounted the steps in my head. Run, meet, développé left, battement, other way same thing, leaps, pirouette, développé. Battements were like high kicks – straight up, straight down to the side. I did not feel like doing them. I then hurried to the right side of the studio, lining up with Lauren, Megan and Violet.

"Five six seven eight and running..." Hey, didn't I know this tune? It was Alexandre something or other...crap! I flitted across the stage, way too many counts behind the others. "And turn, yes and meet them! Good, gentlemen kneel," Peter kneeled, offering me his hand. I took it, my head now feeling extremely light. "And to the line." Peter and I skipped into line beside Megan and her partner. "And développé right, and step step..." Oh God, what was I doing? My legs were crossing awkwardly, almost throwing me off balance. I did a weak battement and then went back to Peter for the next move. "Good and now same thing on the left." I did the two steps better this time, and let my leg stretch out and fly up.

"Hey!" Megan shouted. Mrs. Gerran stopped playing.

What? I looked around. Peter was far away on my left...and I was right next to Megan...I'd gone the wrong way... "God I'm sorry," I said to her. I could have kicked her in the head if I'd been just a tiny bit closer...oh God, I'd never been this bad at directions...pain shoved violently through my head. I squeezed my eyes shut and mashed my hand against my forehead. Couldn't it just go away?

I opened my eyes, the pain dying down to the normal throb again. I stifled a gasp. Edward was right in front of me, looking at me with concern, and once more, he was frowning. "What's wrong?" He asked me.

"I'm fine," I said quickly.

"Your head?" He glanced at the hand still up against it.

I swallowed, "I'm fine." I repeated.

Edward raised a dark, sceptical eyebrow. Another wave of dizziness rolled through me. I swayed momentarily, the sickness returning to my stomach. "Dizzy?" Edward asked.

I felt utterly powerless, but I still told him, "I'm okay."

"No, you're not," he said back.

I raised my chin, though I could hardly make myself look taller than him, "I think I know when I'm okay and when I'm not, Sir." Calling him 'sir' seemed strange...foreign.

Edward sighed wearily. "Untie your shoe," he said.

I frowned, "what?"

"Untie your shoe, Miss. Swan."

"Why?" I asked. They were perfectly fine.

"Why not?" He countered. I confusedly sat down, wondering what an Earth he was doing. I picked out the knot in the ribbons and my shoe fell loose. Then I did my right, and then I looked up at him, waiting.

"Now tie it up again," he said, gesturing to my shoe. My head throbbed as I grabbed the ribbons.

I looked up at Edward as I tied, "What is the point of this?"

Edward was looking at my shoe, his eyebrows raised. He nodded to it, "To prove that."

I glanced down. The ribbons weren't the neat 'x' and circle that I'd been easily doing. Instead, they were a loose, useless tangle...just like this morning. I sighed, suddenly exhausted. I couldn't tell my right from my left, I couldn't remember the steps for my solo, I couldn't keep in time with the music, I couldn't even tie up my pointe shoes! What the hell was wrong with me?

"Mrs. Gerran, would you please look after the class for a few minutes?" Edward asked her. Mrs. Gerran pushed up her glasses and smiled a yes.

Edward looked back down to me. He offered me his hand. I tentatively took it.

Electricity suddenly shot up my hand, and Edward and I locked stares. There was nothing teacher-student about it. At that point, it was as if Edward and me were together, as one...becoming entirely equal within a single look...equal, and connected...but that was impossible...it seemed as if we both shared that thought, and we both snapped out of it.

He pulled me up and then let go as quickly as he could.. He turned and was quickly at the door. For just a second, I thought he was storming out again like last time. I felt a horrible pain blossoming in my chest, but then he turned again, holding the door open for me. I hurried past him, into the cool corridor. I yanked off my loose shoes and held them, confused and slightly...bedazzled.

Edward leaned back into the studio for a second, "I want to see that combination perfected by the time I get back, yes?"

"Yes, sir," I heard my class chorus.

He shut the door. Suddenly, the corridor became a strange, unknown place. Edward began walking. I had to take long steps to keep up with him as we headed for the stairs.

"Where are we going?" I asked, feeling like a child.

"To Doctor Hill's office," he replied shortly.

"I'll get better," I said. The last thing I needed right now was for this Doctor Hill to deem me unfit for classes for even just a day. I could not miss another tech class, not when my solo piece was in shreds. "I don't need to go."

"You do," Edward said sharply as we reached the stairs.

"I can't," I said, stopping.

He turned around, looking incredulous, "why not? You have a concussion; you have to see a doctor."

I bit my lip, looking down at my stocking feet. "You don't know if I have a concussion."

Edward nodded, conceding. Then looked up at me, "which is why we're going to the doctor; to find out."

I sighed, exasperated, and continued down the stairs silently.

The third door on the right of the stairs held the plaque:

Dr Martin Hill, Physiotherapist

Edward knocked. "Come in," came a man's voice.

Edward opened the door and we went in. It looked like any other doctor's surgery; a high bed with just a pale blue sheet, a couple of armchairs, several cupboards and many posters on the mint green walls. I looked at a few;

Ballet: the Art of Arthritis;

Eating Disorders for your Échappés;

Pointe Shoes: the Danger in Pink;

The Truth about Tutus;

Ballet befriends Bulimia;

Tondues and Tendinitis.

What on Earth? Since when did posters like these end up in a ballet school?

Doctor Hill sat at a corner desk, a laptop in front of him. He turned in his chair. "Ah, Edward Masen," he said, standing up. He wore studious horn-rimmed glasses and his neat brown beard was flecked with grey, as was his balding hair. His face was podgy and round, but not unpleasant. He was very short, though; only a little taller than me. "Another torn muscle?" He inquired.

Edward grimaced and shook his head. A torn muscle? That had to have put him back a few months... "Miss. Swan has a concussion." He said.

Doctor Hill turned to me, "Hello Miss...Swan, is it?" I gave a half-hearted smile. He looked at me over the top of his glasses, inky black eyes scrutinizing me, "Tell me, Miss. Swan, did you do your warm ups today?"

"Yes sir," I nodded. I'd managed to do those, at least.

He shook his head distastefully, "Warm ups are extremely dangerous," he said. "And to do them without teacher supervision as you do in this academy is truly ridiculous." I blushed and looked down at my hands. He waited a moment longer, "Have a seat." I slipped gratefully into a chair. Edward sat next to me, but made sure our shoulders didn't touch. "So," he began, sitting back in his own chair and crossing his legs. "How did you get this concussion?"

"I probably don't even have one," I told him. "Just a headache."

He pressed his lips together in disdain. "How long have you had a headache for?"

"Since breakfast, maybe?" I tried to work out if I'd felt anything last night...if there was one thing I did want to go away, it was my headache.

"Have you experienced any dizziness or nausea?"

I bit my lip, "yes."

He nodded slowly, writing something down on a clipboard he'd produced out of nowhere. "Have you had any trauma to the head recently?"

"No," I told him.

"No falls or maybe fights?"

I shook my head. "Nope." The word 'fall' sparked a memory though. Angela, she'd fallen. I remembered it now, her swaying, and then crashing, crashing into...Oh God...I looked up at Doctor Hill hesitantly. "I can't quite remember what happened...but I think I blacked out yesterday, after Angela's fall...she fell into my partner, and he lost his hold on me and I fell...but he caught me, and then..." I frowned. What had happened next?

"Wait, you were in that accident?" Edward asked incredulously.

I nodded. Before Edward could say anything else, Doctor Hill butted in. "Temporary memory loss is a sign of concussion. If you fell, then it's quite likely you hit your head on the ground."

"How serious is this?" Asked Edward.

Doctor Hill shrugged, "As Miss. Swan hasn't had any further black-outs, I would say it was grade two at the most. The memory loss is a little worrying, but there is little we can do to get that back. No vomiting?" He asked me.

"Nope," I said.

He reached into a drawer and pulled out a torch. "Just lean forward for me," I complied, and he shined the little torch into my left eye, then my right. Satisfied, he clicked it off and put it back in the drawer. "The strong effects of a concussion don't last too long. Rest until Saturday at least and you should be fine."

"You mean no ballet?" I asked sharply, though of course that was what he meant.

"None," he said, then pointed to one of his posters, "Stay away from ballet, your life gains a year every day."

"I can't stay off that long." I told him, giving a mental eye roll at the damned poster. This was exactly what I had feared. This could not happen, not before the review.

"You will, Miss. Swan. Doctor's orders," he gave a twisted smile, "now I'll go and get you a prescription of Tylenol." He stood up and went through a door by the desk, labelled 'Staff Only.' As soon as the door shut, Edward was onto me.

"Why the hell didn't you tell anyone?" He demanded. "I had no idea there was anyone other than Angela and Ben involved!"

I huffed, "I think a girl screaming on the floor with a broken shoulder is slightly more important."

Edward stared at me with disbelief, "A concussion could be just as serious."

"But it isn't," I pointed out, "I'm fine. And I'm not the one in hospital."

He pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes, "this is just like with Mike. I couldn't believe you didn't tell him anything."

"I didn't know what it was meant to feel like! I'd never done pas de deux before!"

"God, everyone know it's a responsibility to say if something's not right!"

"What?" I snapped, "After last week I just assumed that walking out the door was how that worked."

That stopped him short, and he glared contemptuously at the floor. Finally he looked at me. "I walked out because I realized that I had taken you way out of your depth."

"What, you thought I wasn't coping?"

"You could hardly cope with the simple lift Madame Wright wanted; I saw the fear in your face. I did an over head, without any warning, with a first year. And worse, a first year who has no background in Pas de Deux or the trust or the emotion that comes with it."

"What the hell?" I exclaimed. "So you just assumed that I was – "

"Interesting conversations you ballet dancers have." Doctor Hill had returned from the other room, a pill bottle in his hand. With his other hand, he pointed to another poster: Would you sacrifice mental stability for flexibility?

Worn raw with anger, I stood and stuck my hand out for the pills impatiently. "Take one every two hours, no less. Take two if it gets very bad. And remember, no ballet until Saturday. I'll explain to your teachers."

"Thank you, Sir," I said mechanically, then spun on my heel and launched out of the door, eager to get away from him. Out in the entrance hall, people were heading through to dinner. Taking a deep breath to try and compose myself, I fought against the tide of students coming down the stairs.

I had my pointe shoes in hand, and my ipod lay upstairs in my trunk. I set my shoulders and lifted my chin.

By Sunday night, I would prove to Edward Masen that I was not an inexperienced, clueless first year.

I put my alliteration to good use!

Anyways (what a weirdo, that amberdeen), please review and let me know what you think!