A/N *revised 09/07/2010* At this point in the story I came to the conclusion that if I was going to continue it, I needed to add a little more depth and actual 'story' to avoid a possible Pwop mess. My decision was to continue on with the idea of 'practice makes perfect' and to stay within the timeframe of the months before the actual wedding. But let's face it; they can't stay in bed the entire time, much as we might like them to do that exact thing, lol.

So, dear readers, from this point on you'll be getting a mix of things. Lots more lemons, yes. But also a look at our favourite couple learning to incorporate their desires into everyday life and navigating the lazy, indulgent summer days and nights that would have been relatively stress free in those missing moments between Eclipse and Breaking Dawn. So if you like fluff and romance and angst free reading, you're in the right place. I promise you lemons galore with lots of sensual exploration and discovery in the coming chapters with enough fluff to make you feel like you're floating on a cloud.

Sound good?

Aleea


Chapter 12 Fevered

EPOV

Reaching for my watch on the bedside table I sigh with quiet frustration. Bella frowns yet again, her soft, delicate brow puckering as she shifts restlessly against my side. She's only been asleep for less than an hour, but it seems like much longer. One hour of watching her twist and turn and shift in restless discomfort, helpless to do anything about it. She should be exhausted. She should be sleeping like a baby even if it is only a little after 9 pm. I've loved her body until she was spent and completely sated again and again, and still she tosses and turns. Pain is stealing away her ability to achieve anything more than a light, discontented semblance of rest. Even as I watch, her eyes flutter open and a soft whimper of unease slides from her lips before she turns away and settles briefly once again.

Snagging my cell phone I slip out of bed trying not to jar her, and quietly leave the bedroom. Carlisle answers on the first ring.

"Edward."

"Carlisle, I was just wondering how much longer you would be before you come home?"

"I'm just finishing up. How's Bella doing?"

"She's trying to sleep, but she's very uncomfortable."

"Hmm, yes I was afraid of that. I've already made a stop at the pharmacy and picked up some Silvadene and some painkillers to help her sleep tonight. I want to start her on antibiotics as well. Has she been drinking, Edward?"

"Yes, some. But it seems to make her feel nauseous."

"Well I think, though I doubt it will be necessary, that I'll bring home some I.V. saline bags, just to be on the safe side. Does she seem feverish at all?"

"She does seem a bit warm, though I don't think she's feverish…?"

Carlisle laughs lightly. "Edward don't worry, I'm sure she's fine, but second degree burns are painful so her discomfort is to be expected. I'm leaving the hospital right now. I should be home in less than half an hour. Let her rest even if it does seem that she's uncomfortable, some sleep is better than none at all."

"Yes, I suppose. I just really hate to see her like this."

"If she wakes, try to get more fluids in her if you can. Also, you can take the bandages off and bathe her hands very gently in cool water. Although you must remember not to break any of the blisters."

I winced at the thought. I might have extensive medical knowledge and training, but just the thought of trying to treat even this small injury on Bella has me cringing. Hanging up the phone I slip back in the room and brush a curl away from her temple. She seems warm, but more warm than usual?

Ooohhhh, Edwarrrrdddd! We're baaacckk. Better cover up because I'm coming upstairs.

Emmett's thoughts are loud and intrusive. I rush out the door and meet him halfway up the stairs.

"Wake her up, Emmett and I swear I will tell Rose things that will have you begging on your knees for her mercy!"

"Whoa, bro, I didn't even know she was sleeping. Chill." He holds his hands up in mock truce and grins. "I just wanted to warn you that there is a very large delivery truck pulling up into the driveway as we speak. Judging by the looks of it, your fragile little bride to be's new chariot has arrived." He says the last part in a whisper, grinning again. "None too soon either. Alice and I have made sure her truck has seen the last of the open road."

Running my hands through my hair in frustration I head for the door. Delivery isn't scheduled for another two days. Something may have been lost in the translation. It wouldn't be the first time that's happened with overseas shipping. Emmett follows close on my heels and I spin around and pin him with a glare. I am in no mood for overly exuberant, and that is the exact vibe and thought that is rolling out of his mind and emotions right now.

"Where's Alice and Jasper?"

"Hunting, or so they say…." He laughs and winks. "Personally I think all that naughtiness that you and Bella have had going on here today got to poor Jazz. Every time we got anywhere near the house, he would get all flustered and we'd have to leave."

"Emmett…"

"What, I'm just saying that Alice has her work cut out for her is all."

"Fine, I get the point, Emmett. Thanks for sharing." I lace my voice with as much sarcasm as possible, but Emmett as usual is immune.

"You're welcome, but I think thanks for sharing should be Jasper's line, don't you?"

Rolling my eyes I point down at the floor. "Stay."

"What?"

"Stay. Here. Bella is sleeping, but just barely. If she wakes up and comes looking for me, I don't want her to come outside and see the car. Got it?" Despite my telling him to stay he's followed me into the kitchen where I punch in the numbers to disable the garage security system. "Make yourself useful," I say, gesturing to the few dishes I'd left after Bella's dinner.

"Oh man, gross." He wrinkles his nose in disgust and picks up a cold pancake off the plate. "What the hell is this?" He wiggles it and sniffs it grimacing in mild revulsion. "God, did she eat that?"

"It's a pancake, Emmett don't be such an ass. And keep your ears open, if you hear her moving around call me, okay?"

"Edward my brother, you need to learn to relax."

"Emmett…" My voice is tight and low in warning, and he backs up nervously.

"Fine okay, jeesh. Uptight much? I got it alright? Clean up disgusting human food and keep ears open for human movement. Go already, before your little delivery people ring the doorbell and accomplish the very thing you're so worried about." He flicks his fingers at me in an overly feminine shooing motion and whips one of Esme's flower printed aprons over his waist.

Rolling my eyes, I head out of the house hoping to make this as quick as possible.

BPOV

Something is stabbing my fingers. Something sharp and hot. Like tiny little burning knives that are glowing after just having been yanked from a brilliant orange, fiery, bed of …

I sit up so fast my head spins, almost pressing my hands to my face in reaction. Almost, except the dream was real enough that I still half believe that little glowing knives really are sticking out of my hands. Reality comes crashing back in slowly and I groan in pain and frustration. I'm so tired I feel groggy and disconnected, and all I want to do is lay back down and go to sleep. The fire burning across my hands however, is too intense for that. My mouth feels dry, my throat tight and hot, and I'm alone. Nope, not going back to sleep anytime soon.

I kick away the deep blue comforter that Edward had redressed the bed in and somehow make it to my feet. A wave of vertigo almost sends me back down again. Gritting my teeth I head for the water pitcher and then stare at it in consternation. For starters I don't even want to try and pour a glass. The thought of letting anything touch my hands at this point is completely inconceivable, not to mention the fact that I can't see these bandages making the ability to hang onto it remotely possible. Second of all, I don't want water, I want Gingerale. Ice cold, bubbly Gingerale. The chances of finding that particular beverage in a house full of blood drinking vampires should be highly unlikely, but then so should finding the ingredients to make blueberry pancakes. Besides, Edward has to be around here somewhere and I'm feeling crummy and sulky enough to ask him to get me some, even if it means a trip to the store.

The bedroom is dark and I feel slightly put out that he left me alone, which I automatically feel guilty about. After the amazing day we've had and everything that's happened, I really should be floating on cloud nine. Floating tends to be difficult however, when one is as uncomfortable as I am right now.

I trip twice on my way to the door only to find it closed once I reach it. Groaning softly, I very carefully press just the tips of my fingers to the handle and try at least three times before it finally turns. Unfortunately when it does turn it happens too quickly and my right hand slips, jamming my blistered palm against the knob. Gasping with tears filling my eyes, all I can feel is agony racing across the burned flesh and tearing up and down my entire arm. A wet sticky feeling tells me I've opened a blister or two and I grimace in disgust, fighting the urge to upchuck.

Finally I make it out of the room and head for the stairs. I can hear music coming from the kitchen and what sounds like Emmett, singing in a high falsetto to the Rolling Stones. I glance down at my body reassuring myself that I am indeed covered. Edward had helped me dress in a pair of soft blue cotton pyjama pants with a matching camisole style top that he'd found carefully laid out on the bed in Alice's room. I couldn't help but smile at the thought that Alice, as usual, knew more about what would happen today than either Edward or I. Later I might be embarrassed, but not now. I'm much too grateful to be embarrassed. Despite my pain I still feel slightly giddy about how successful Edward and I had been in our experimenting.

When I reach the bottom of the stairs another wave of dizziness makes me pause and lean against the wall tiredly for support. If it hadn't taken so much work to get here I might just crawl back upstairs, Gingerale or no Gingerale.

Emmett suddenly comes around the corner, his face scrunched in consternation. "Bella, what the hell are you doing down here? Man, Edward's going to kill me. Get back upstairs."

Scowling I force myself to stand upright wondering why Emmett is ordering me around. "Where is Edward?"

He darts a nervous glance to the front of the house and shakes his head. "He's uh, just taking care of something in the garage."

I start to move and Emmett instantly blocks my way. He's wearing a ridiculous looking flowered apron, and if I didn't know better, I'd say that was pancake batter at the corner of his mouth. "Emmett, were you eating…pancake…"

"Uh, well I was just…cleaning up…and well." Grinning sheepishly he shrugs. "I was curious." His expression changes to one of disgust. "How the hell do you eat that stuff, it tasted like…?"

Before he can gross me out with a comparison that will likely ruin pancakes for me for life, I hold up one bandaged hand. "It tastes better if you cook it, Emmett but even then, I get it. Pancakes bad, Grizzly bear good."

He grins then looks nervously at the front of the house again. "Yeah well, one day you'll understand and we'll have a long topic of discussion on the finer points of Grizzly. But right now, you need to go back upstairs. Not only will Edward kill me if he comes in and finds you out of bed, but no offence, Bella, you look like you're ready to fall over."

Even as he said the words I could feel a cold shudder working its way over my body. Not to mention a new and more violent spinning sensation. The house was nowhere near as warm as Edward's bedroom and apparently this long day was taking a toll on my body. Since I hadn't eaten hardly anything all day, it really was no wonder. I should probably have some toast or something with the Gingerale. Oh yeah, Gingerale. My throat grew hotter and tighter with the memory and I wondered in an odd disjointed sort of way if this is what Edward's throat feels like when he's around me. I push the thought away with effort and focused as best I could on a swaying Emmett.

"I want Gingerale." I say, aware that I sound petulant and a bit whiny, and unable to bring myself to care. I tried to get myself moving in the direction of the kitchen. "Emmett you're making me sick, please stop dancing, or swaying, or whatever it is your doing."

"Uh, Bella, I'm not moving."

"Fine," I said closing my eyes. "Then neither am I." I lean against the wall with a sigh. "Can you please get Edward?"

"I thought you wanted Gingerale? How about I get that first."

He sounds funny and I open one eye warily to find him looking at me with equal wariness. "Bella…?"

"What, Emmett?" I'm really dizzy now and not cold at all. In fact, it's too hot in here. Everything starts to go fuzzy and the last thing I hear before it all goes dark is a quiet curse and Edward's name. Then something wonderfully cold and as hard as cement wraps around my waist. With a sigh I let myself go limp and slide away from the pain. This is even better than Gingerale.

"Shit…EDWARD!"

EPOV

The delivery man is large, morbidly obese, and rank with stale sweat and cigarette smoke. He shuffles towards the trailer with the laboured gait of a man twice his age and gestures to the contents with a nervous grin. "Yep. That's quite the car Mr. Coolan. I ain't seen nothing like it before. Had all the guys at the dock in a tizzy when they unloaded it from the freighter."

His fear filled chatter is not helping his perspiration problem, and I watch as a large drop rolls down the side of his neck. It slides down over his carotid artery and I resist the urge to growl at him. Normally I would either take some pains to ease his fear, or increase it, depending on the circumstances and the outcome I was looking for. In this case I opt for quiet observation and an air of intimidation that lacks any outright sign of threat, but hardly comforts. His health is precarious at best, and if I'm not careful too much intimidation could have him suffering a heart attack. All I really want is for him to conclude his business and be gone so I can get back to Bella. His perceptions of me however, are making him fumble and chatter. His fear, like most humans, is unfocused and I can hear him berating himself for it mentally.

Get a grip; get…a …freaking grip. He's just a kid. A pompous little spends all his Daddy's money on freaking foreign, zillion dollar cars kid. Christ, I make kids like this wet their damn pants and cry for their mommies all the freaking time…"

His health is more precarious than he realizes.

"So anyway, Mr. Caloon, if you just want to put your John Hancock right here, I'll get this baby unloaded for you."

I accept the grubby clipboard and damp pen from his hands, and without him even realizing, the keys from an equally damp and grubby pocket. If it wasn't for the fact that I can hear and see Bella in Emmett's thoughts asking for me, I just might take the time to show him what wetting his pants and crying for his Mother would feel like. Something must slip by my composed expression because his heart rate accelerates and he takes a fast step back. Not even his mildly repulsive hygiene can taint the warm appeal of his blood and I swallow the small rush of venom, focusing my attention on getting him gone.

He clears his throat, berating himself mentally again. "So I'll just put that in the garage for you…"

I hold the keys up and watch his face go pale as he pats his pockets.

"That won't be necessary, I'll move it myself." The thought of him sweating all over the leather interior where in only a few days my perfect Bella will sit, disgusts me. Not because of the sweat itself, but because of the nature of the man who exudes it. I've seen enough of his thoughts to know he is a bully and a lousy husband to a tiny dark haired woman who's been aged beyond her years by his callousness.

Ignoring his gaping mouth, I quickly take the car off the trailer and put it in the garage, covering it with a tarp. I narrowly resist the urge to grin at the man's shocked expression. He's rethinking his evaluation of me as a child based on the skill and dexterity that I'd removed the vehicle. Pathetic. I could show him just how ridiculous his assumptions are…

"Wow, you sure know how to drive, I've never seen…"

I hold out an overly generous tip, cutting his babbling off as though I'd torn off his tongue. That notion holds some appeal as I listen to his mind spin off with thoughts of drinking the night away at a rather unpleasant looking establishment. Several paid companions hang off his enormous body.

"Oh, you don't need to do that, Mr. Cullen," he says, his voice dripping with fake respect now. "I get paid by the company and they don't like for us to be taking tips." His greedy eyes don't leave the money, although he hesitates from snatching it from my hands. Not out of respect for company rules, but simply out of the fear of touching me.

"Don't be absurd. You've delivered something of mine with speed and excellent care. I insist." I can see his hand twitch, and if not for the fear he would have long since pocketed it. I search his thoughts and catch a few that actually include his wife. Something about an anniversary and her needing a new stove.

Without his awareness, I slip a few extra hundred dollars into the folded bills. Using my softest most threatening voice, I speak very quietly. "Please, take it, I insist. Your wife I'm sure would love an evening out on the town, perhaps a nice dinner, a bottle of wine. Perhaps a show afterwards. Surely you wouldn't deny her that pleasure... Mr. Flynn." I emphasize his name and watch as his eyes widen in alarm. He'd never formally introduced himself and he wears no name badge, nor was he listed anywhere on the sheet I'd signed. Protective measures from a trucking company that had experienced more than their fair share of robberies in the last year.

I watch as he finally reaches out and accepts the money, taking amusing and extreme care not to come in contact with my skin. I wait until he has his fingers wrapped around the money before I lay my other hand over his. His eyes widen in fear and he instinctively tries to jerk away from my cold grasp, which of course I do not allow.

"I would be very disappointed, Mr. Flynn, if I were to find out that you chose to throw away this gift on activities that might occur at a location like Harry's Bar. I believe your lovely wife could very much use a romantic night out with her loving and kind husband…don't you?" His heart stutters and his face pales so drastically that I instantly let go of his hand.

He steps back, breathing too fast and nods quickly. "Uh, of course, Mr. Cullen. So kind of you, sir, and yes my wife will be happy, she, God bless her, she works hard that woman ya know with the kids and the…" He clears his throat, backing away in an awkward shuffle. "She'd love a night on the town…I'm sure of it…"

"Be sure that she does, Mr. Flynn." I reiterate quietly, picking his address from his thoughts as he wonders if I might possibly know where he lives. He redeems himself considerably by actually being concerned for the safety of his family over his own.

"EDWARD!"

Mr. Flynn is already stumbling into the cab of his truck when I hear Emmett's panicked sounding call. Although it only takes him a second to situate himself, by the time he looks out the windshield I'm already in the house. The roar of the truck engine and the squeal of tires mark his hasty departure, but I barely notice.

I fly into the house and find Emmett holding Bella awkwardly in his arms. He's cradling her carefully enough, except he's holding her away from his body with a completely panicked expression on his face. Another time I might find the fact that my tiny human fiancé could reduce him to a nervous wreck amusing. Now, I'm just as panicked as he is.

"What the hell happened, Emmett?" I take her from him trying to focus on his thoughts and his babbling words. Neither one is very clear.

"Damn, Edward…she just fell, dropped like a stone. Man, is she always this hot?…Shit, I hope I didn't hurt her…I tried to catch her before she hit the floor but I don't know if I was gentle enough…Jesus. Take her hurry up, God damn it, Edward, how the hell do you touch her without…?" Groaning he shakes his head at me as I carry her into the living room and lay her gently on the couch.

I can hear the phone ringing, but neither Emmett nor I move.

"She's so damn small…did I break her?"

I stroke her cheek gently and call her name, trying to evaluate everything all at once and not lose my mind.

"Get the phone, Emmett." Somehow my voice comes out calm.

"It's Alice…she says Bella's okay." He wipes his hand over his face. "Are you sure, Alice because I might have broken her, I can't…What? Yeah, okay, okay." Emmett drops the phone and holds his head, taking a long unsteady breath.

"Damn it, Emmett what did Alice say?" My voice no longer sounds calm and Bella's eyes flutter at the noise.

"It's okay, Edward, Alice says she's fine. I didn't break her, it's alright."

"Emmett," I grit my teeth and count to ten in 6 different languages. "I know you didn't break her, but why did she faint."

"Oh yeah, sorry. Um, Alice says she might be a little sick or something. She said to tell you not to freak, and that Carlisle will be here in exactly 45 seconds. Wait," he glances at his watch, "make that 18 seconds."

Even as he speaks I can hear Carlisle's car and Bella's eyes open.

She sighs softly and shakes her head at me, a tiny petulant frown wrinkling her forehead. "Edward?"

"Yes, I'm right here, love, its okay. Carlisle is here too. He's just coming in now." He appears before I'm even finished the sentence, bringing with him a calm, competent demeanour that is desperately needed. In fact I could use a hefty dose of Jasper right now and no sooner do I think it then I feel it. I can hear him and Alice making their way towards the house. Alice is chanting, she's fine, Edward, over and over, and combined with Jaspers influence I feel some of the tension slip away. "Carlisle's here, Bella. He'll take care of you, love," I repeat, more for my benefit than hers as he leans in and touches his hand to her forehead. She closes her eyes and automatically turns into the coolness of his touch even as she frowns harder.

"I don't want Carlisle," she whines softly. She opens her eyes and gives him an apologetic look. "No offence," she whispers and her voice is rough and scratchy.

"None taken," he replies with a smile of his own.

"I really just want some Gingerale."


Feed me reviews and I will feed you lemons!