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School.

Why, Bella asked herself, had she insisted on going back so quickly?

Alice had been wonderful. Her presence was calm, but undemanding, and she made sure Bella didn't trip over anything on the way to her two classes. Still, the noise was overwhelming. Had it been so loud before? How had she not noticed?

The blessing of the concussion was not being called on in class, and being allowed to wait in the medical room between classes, or during, if she needed it.

And she was excused from PE. Forever. When the principal had explained she'd be given a standing granted, she almost wept with relief.

Her greatest worry, though, had so far not materialized.

Edward.

"So...will—," Bella had started.

"Nope," said Alice, "not today."

"Alice, I didn't ask you a question."

Alice turned to look at Bella, and then rolled her eyes. She tapped her head. "Sees the future? 'Remember?"

"Yes, I do," Bella smiled a little, still feeling the worry claw at her, "but when, then?"

"Tomorrow, he'll be back. And he will do his best to avoid you running into each other."

"Sure," Bella said, her throat a tight clench, nodding. "Thanks," she managed, a while later.

English class had passed without incident, and Bella was grateful she hadn't been called on to offer any insights. Mr. Berty had even provided notes for her to read later. His solicitousness was almost shocking, so used was she to his regular abruptness.

Chemistry was trickier. She couldn't keep track of the simple lab steps, and it was hurting to look at the page. Halfway through, she felt the tears come, surprised by the wetness on her paper. Mortified, she wiped them away, but not before the teacher had come alongside her. He spoke softly, and kindly, but Bella flushed in embarrassment. "Come back next class, when we're not doing lab work. We'll catch up on this another day," he said.

She stuffed her papers into her bag, and tried not to fall over getting out the door. It wasn't her most gracious exit.

Still fuming, she walked past the office and had to turn around to get to it, unpleasantly dislocated in the space. When she finally pushed the heavy door open, the quietness of the carpeted space was a relief.

The secretary was on the phone, and pointed to the medical room, her eyebrows raised in questioning. Bella nodded, and settled onto the naugahyde mattress, grateful to be prone.

"Bella, sweetie, wake up."

"Whuh?" Bella said, sitting up too fast. My god, she thought, will I ever stop sleeping?

"Your ride's here, honey."

"Thanks," she said, swinging her legs over the side, steadying herself before trying to stand. She didn't bother trying to sling her backpack over her shoulder, figuring that given her deteriorating coordination, she was more likely to whack herself in the head again than anything else.

"I'll take that," a beautiful voice purred.

Bella stopped, frozen. She forced herself to look, to be sure.

"Alice had to leave," Edward said, apologetically, "Jasper was...unwell."

"Oh," she said. "I'll just wait, here, I guess," she mumbled, and turned to slink back into the medical room.

"Why don't I give you a ride home?" Edward suggested, very carefully, very softly.

"I can wait for someone else to give me a ride," she said, trying not to let the tears, her new and unwelcome friends, betray how fraught she was.

Watching the melodrama unfold before her, the secretary felt a spasm of pity for Edward, and heaping of scorn for Bella. What was this girl missing? How hard had she hit her head?

"I'll call your dad, sweetie. We'll figure something out." She was reaching for the phone, shaking her head in disbelief—so beautiful, this boy—

"It's fine, miss, I can give Bella a ride. Her dad's busy."

Bella shot him a dark look. She knew he wasn't going to give up easily. Looking at the clock—was it really only 11 am?—Bella weighed the option of waiting for the end of the school day, or suffering fifteen—no, ten, she reminded herself—minutes of silence with Edward. At least he would drive quickly.

"Fine," she huffed, and stormed out of the office, tripping over the door plate as she went.

Edward knew better than to try to steady her.

He followed at a discreet distance, but allowed himself to overtake her when they reached the lot.

"Just over here," he said, pointing.

He stopped himself from opening the door, or closing it for her, and busied himself with remembering what it felt like to touch her, to hold her hand while they were driving.

The flood of her scent in the car made his throat burn, and he took a deep, and careful breath before starting the ignition.

He stuck to the speed limit, or just under, the entire way.

Bella tried very hard not to be livid. Her efforts were disappointing.

"Are you—" he started.

"Just don't," she said, hoping the wall of anger would last until she got home.

"I—"

"No," she spat.

It was his turn to huff.

"Are you cold?" he rushed out.

She grimaced.

"It's just, you're shaking."

After a moment, she nodded.

He turned up the heat, and said nothing, counting the miles and minutes until he would have run out of pretense to be with her. He wondered if she was well enough to be alone, but considering she'd attended school, determined he had little ground to stand on.

Pulling up to the curb of her house, Edward allowed himself to look her. "Do you want me to wait with you?"

"No," she said, pained by his pity, and opened the car door. The tears were brimming. If she could make it to the door, she had a chance to preserve at least this small piece of dignity.

His hand stopped her. "Bella, please, wait."

"No," she said, "I can't."

"Please." He wasn't letting go.

She was shaking, and this time not from cold. "I. Can't." This time she made the words precise, but her rough voice rode over it all, and the tears were done waiting. She stopped, and let her arm relax, waiting for him to let go. Her eyes studied the ground.

Edward slowly released her arm, alarmed at the grip he had kept on it. "Sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"You're a little late on that front." She fumbled with the key in the lock, dropping it, and scrambling to pick it up. "NO!" She screamed, when he reached it for her. "JUST GO!"

He ignored her, and opened the door, handing back the key.

Bella's head was starting to hurt again, and she slumped into the living room, sliding onto the couch. Why, why did he have to stay? Just to make her feel worse? Perhaps—No. She told herself. No. Don't even think about that possibility. You're an idiot to.

MIserable, she got up and forced herself to open the fridge, and at least consider eating something. A fresh wave of hot anger washed over her. She slammed it closed and picked up the phone, punching in Jacob's number. Billy answered, and her heart sunk. Of course, he'd be at school. "Oh, hey Billy, it's Bella, I don't suppose—"

"He's right here. Came home for lunch."

Her heart did a happy double-take.

"Hey! You done already?" he asked.

"Yeah, just a half day today," she said, "um, don't suppose you're free this afternoon, are you?"

"I can ditch," he said, and Bella could hear Billy's stern, "no, you can't," in the background. "After school, then?" he mock sighed.

"That would be awesome," she smiled into the phone. Excellent. A distraction. And maybe, she thought, they could go grocery shopping. Buy something she chose herself.

Resigning herself to her bodily needs, Bella poured a bowl of cereal. She was fairly certain she'd bought at least that, if not the milk—organic, really?

She turned on the TV, and determined that afternoon soaps did not constitute mental strain. When she woke up, the schmaltzy strains of Days of Our Lives were peppered by an energetic knock at the door.

"Wake up sleepy-head!" he called.

She smiled as she opened the door, pleased on so many levels. Hadn't fallen down getting there. Hadn't woken up drooling, and had the company of a friend.

Jacob's hug, and the word, so solid in her mind, caught her unaware.

"Hey," she said, "thanks for coming."

"No problemo. Whatcha wanna do?"

"Well," she felt a bit embarrassed for asking for something so domestic, "would you mind taking me grocery shopping?"

"Aren't you guys stocked to the hilt? On the local Vampire charity list and all that?" Jacob regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth.

"Kinda, yeah, and that's my point," she blushed. "I'd really like to eat something I actually chose myself."

"Gotcha," he answered, relieved he hadn't blown their afternoon together.

They wandered through the aisles, in no hurry. He kept an arm around her, his other carrying the basket. It felt, Bella realized, comfortable. Comforting. They left with a hefty purchase of strawberries, cheerios, and ice cream. The ice cream was Jacob's choice.

He ate almost all of it, directly from the container, as they sat at the table, while Bella managed to do some of her homework, slowly, and laboriously.

She hadn't realised it, but she'd been readjusting the grip on her pencil continually, the coordination of her fingers faltering over, and over, and over again. The feeling of his hand, chilled, startled her. "You're looking pretty tired," he said.

Nodding, she sighed, and put it aside. He was right. She was. "Come on, take a break," he said, standing, holding an arm out for her. She stood slowly, but still stumbled, and his warm arm slipped under her.

They walked, in what felt like an awkward three legged race, to the couch, where, losing her footing again, she clutched at his shirt. "Sorry," she mumbled, laughing at herself, "I really am living up to my reputation as a clutz."

"You're not, Bella," he said quietly, and brought his lips to hers. She sucked in a sharp breath. She hadn't expected this. But she should have, she realized. And she wondered. Had she chosen—this? Because this was feeling...good.

His lips were pressed against hers, his hands easily taking the span of her ribs. They tightened as the kiss grew in intensity and time, and Bella felt secure in his grip. A vice against her own inept fragility.

But his energy was shifting, and the comfortable pressure was edging over into discomfort. Her breath was compressed by his hands, coming fast through her nose, and she pulled her head back, trying to dislodge his lips. It took several attempts before he realized what she was trying to do. When he loosened his grip, she stumbled back, and onto the couch.

A roaring pain shot up her back and around her head.

Gasping, Bella held her head with one hand, the other trying to soothe the lesser discomfort in her ribs. The screaming throb in her skull soon took the attention of both hands.

Jacob stood, uncertain, unsure how to help. "Bella, what's happening?"

"Charlie," she whispered, "get Charlie." The sound of her voice ricocheted inside her skull. She rolled onto her side, and pulled the afghan over her head.

She knew that there were more sounds unpacking themselves around the room, but she was sliding away from it all, deep into the place where nothingness lived, and nothing could reach her.

When she found herself at the surface of consciousness again, she was still in the couch, but laid straight on its length, the blanket wrapped around her tightly.

Jacob stood anxiously by the living room door, and Carlisle Cullen was dropping—a blood sample?—into a plastic bag.

"Hi Bella," he said quietly. "You had quite a turn." He waited, hoping she would say something, but she only nodded slightly.

Behind Carlisle, Jacob gave an apologetic shrug. "Your dad said to call him."

"Didn't know you made house-calls," Bella mumbled, the words feeling uneasy and slurred in her mouth.

Carlisle looked simultaneously relieved, and concerned at her speech. "Did you hit your head again?" he asked, suddenly serious, ignoring Jacob's snort.

Bella shook her head, but immediately regretted it, feeling like someone was playing tennis with her brain.

"Bad headache?" he asked.

"Yep," she whispered, her eyes squished shut against the nausea that was rolling up with the pain.

"I'm going to give you a shot, to help with the pain, if that's OK, Bella," he murmured quietly. She gave him a painless thumbs up.

She felt more of his hand than needle, and was grateful, moments later, when whatever it was he'd given her, began to work. It was pleasant, and colourful, and made her feel like she was dancing with butterflies.

"Whadya give me?" she slurred out.

"Morphine," he said quietly.

"Oh," she said, and slipped back into her pleasant delusion.

"She can't be alone," she heard him say to Jacob.

"Charlie's not—?"

"They're following a new lead," he said meaningfully, "he wasn't sure when he'd be back."

Of all the times, Jacob was thinking, to not be able to stay. He needed to pick up Billy, and he couldn't avoid patrol. He sighed, and resigned himself to accepting the help Carlisle was offering. "I can't, not tonight," he said, the note of anger a surprise to both of them.

"I'll take her to my place, then," Carlisle said, diplomatically stepping out of the room.

Jacob stood, watching Bella breath easily, her eyelids slung low, but not quite closed.

"This doesn't mean I like them," he whispered to her, "it just means I love you. Be well," and he kissed her forehead gently.

"I'm off," he muttered to Carlisle as he walked out the front door, leaving the gruff taste of bitterness in his wake.

Carlisle returned quietly, and listened. Her eyes were half open, but the deep and steady thrum of her heart told him she was far beyond the reach of consciousness. He said a silent prayer, asking for forgiveness for what he was about to do, and then pulled a speculum from his bag.

He was finished quickly, and was returning from washing his hands, and supplies, when he heard Edward close the door.

I'm not sure this is the best idea, he thought.

"And you think having Jacob here is?" came the tart reply. "Considering what you just did?" There was a thin layer of civility over Edward's anger, but just.

"We don't know what happened, Edward. And Bella hasn't said, or doesn't remember."

"She doesn't," he sulked.

"How—?"

"She's a terrible liar, Carlisle. Trust me."

Carlisle considered this.

"How's she doing?" Edward's tone softened, and his words would have curled around Bella's sleeping form, if they could.

"She's OK now, but she had a relapse."

Edward grunted.

"Did you hear?" Carlisle asked, not wanting, in some ways, to know.

Edward nodded. "He kissed her," he said, flicking his eyebrows up, "as only a horny werewolf can. I could hear her ribcage squeaking."

'Why didn't you say so?" Carlisle reproached him, moved quickly to the bed, where he gently slid Bella's shirt up to see for himself. Palpating gently and quickly, he pulled the shirt back down. "Topical bruising only," he said.

"Only," Edward muttered.

"Enough," Carlisle said, his patience thinning. "Go. Give yourself some space."

Edward stiffened. Preparing to resist.

"If you want to be with her, then wait until she's ready to see you. When she's conscious."

Edward didn't move.

Go, Carlisle thought, with more force than spoken words could carry.