A/N: Hello everyone, I hope I've been missed and I hope you've been eagerly awaiting the next chapter to this fanfic. I apologise for such an absence; various circumstances prevented me from uploading and I apologise like, a million times, for such a long break between chapters. I've really missed writing about Edward and Tessa and the rest of their merry (?) band of misfits and I'm so glad that I can bring you the next chapter. Well, I hope you enjoy this next instalment and I can honestly promise that the next one won't be too far off - as my uni semester comes to end and I get more and more free time, the possibilities to update this fanfic just get bigger and bigger :)
Please enjoy lovelies,
- AshTree13 xoxo
*edited 12th Nov
… Waking up from a fantasy
And all that's left is you and me…
How do [we] fly with no wings
and how do [we] breathe without [our] dreams…
changing…
wearing thin [our] heart[s]
and there's no place [we] call our own
Like a drifting haze we roam
[so] where do we go from here?
- Ruelle, 'Where do we go from here?' -
Chapter 22:
"Anne. Anne Bonny."
Hand outstretched, the beautiful - it was perhaps the only way to describe the redhead - woman curled her lips into an almost blinding smile, green eyes sparkling with unbridled anticipation and excitement. She was a striking figure to behold; fair skinned that was unblemished save for a few freckles dusting her naturally rosy cheeks and red hair that was nothing if not reminiscent of a ruby. She was slender yet voluptuous, the garments she wore tailored especially to suit the natural curves of her body and the fullness of her breasts; emphasising the latter were an array of leather necklaces, placed in such a manner that it would no doubt draw attention to her generous chest.
She was, in every way, gorgeous.
"Hi," I say, somewhat intimidated by the beautiful woman before me, taking her slender hand and noting the way her skin was smooth to the touch.
Pretty enough then, to not have done much hard labour, I thought with a small smile, withdrawing my hand.
"That's the best you got, North?".
Rolling my eyes, I turn to face my employer, "well, what else am I supposed to say, Tom?"
Affectionately known by some as Old Tom, and known by all as 'that Old Git,' the owner of 'that old, rundown tavern where we go to get pissed,' my boss folds his wry arms across his chest and glares at me with those dark brown, all seeing eyes of his from his perch behind his beloved bar.
A small, gap-toothed man, Tom wasn't exactly fearsome but his many years aboard a ship and knowledge of the wider world made him someone to be respected - he had been a part of the Pirate Republic from day one, earning his keep by trading and distributing a variety of alcoholic beverages to the drunken alcoholic louts who called themselves pirates. It was Tom who hired me as a barmaid back when I had first arrived in Nassau and it was he was had taught me much about the politics of the state when Edward could (or would) not; he was like family and I suppose he thought the same about me, since he usually let our good natured banter and arguments slide when normally he would kick men out of his bar for challenging his superiority.
"How about 'ello Anne, welcome to the Old Avery'?" he suggests, "nice and simple."
"No shit, really?" I say sarcastically with a roll of my eyes.
"Talking back are you, North?"
"Just pointing out your apparent stupidity."
"Picking a fight?" Tom growls, slamming his hands down on the bar, startling a few lounging patrons.
"Yes, Tom, that's exactly what I was trying to do. Congrats you've foiled my master plan," I say, throwing my arms up in defeat.
"Is it always like this?" Anne cuts in, raising a delicate eyebrow, a small smile playing on her rosy lips.
"'Fraid so," Tom answers with a solemn nod and a thumb jerked in my direction, "this one don't know when to quit."
"Hey!" I reply rather indignantly, my cheeks going red with embarrassment, "I'm not the one who finds a reason to fight when there is none!"
"You trying to say I'm short-tempered?"
"Obviously."
"Why I-"
"Hehe," Anne interrupts once more with a harmonious giggle. It breaks through the rising tension as easily as a cannonball can cut through the hull of a ship, her green eyes studying the pair of a us as the corners crinkle in laughter.
"You guys seem close," she says with an almost wistful look.
"I can't get rid of her," comes Tom's blunt reply.
"You'd be screwed if you did," I retort.
Another giggle burst forth from Anne, "I think it'll be great working here."
And, for the first time sInce this debacle began, it all made sense.
"Since when were we hiring?" I ask Tom, confusion knitting my brow. Realising how that may sound to our new co-worker, I quickly correct myself with a smile, "not that I'm against it or anything… just confused."
"It's ok, Miss North," she says with a smile that put the sun to shame, "it was quite a sudden decision on Mr Tom's part. In all honesty, I didn't expect him to take me so seriously when I asked if there was a job available."
"He likes taking in strays," I say rather bluntly, a statement that seems to amuse Anne.
"Not only does Anne have charm and grace and the ability to attract new customers… but we are in dire need of actual servers who can do their bloody job."
"We have Bessie," I argue, picturing the rather plump but friendly woman who often regained our customers with songs of bravery and piracy and tales lost loves and the open seas, with a voice that was arguably angelic. She also knew how to play a mean fiddle and was honestly one of the nicest people in Nassau - unless you pissed her off, then she could knock you down with one quick right-hook.
Gotta love a woman who could serenade you and then proceed to knock you out cold.
"I'll admit that Bessie has her merits; she's certainly entertaining," Tom sighs, stroking his chin as he thought, "but the reality is that I can't expect her to entertain our guests and serve them, it's just not practical. Besides… she's clumsy as fuck and I really don't want to have to replace all of my plates - again. Cost a lot to have them replaced the last time she stumbled."
"I'm sure Hornigold or Blackbeard - even Vane - will sell you another set."
"And charge me a pretty penny to do just that," Tom complains. "Anne stays, end of discussion."
"I don't mind Anne staying," I begin patiently, "I was just-"
"Good," Tom declares, clapping his hands together as he cuts me off, evidently deciding that the conversation was at its end, "Anne stays and charms the pants off our patrons, Bessie can focus on her energy on entertaining our delightful guests and you can train Anne. Sound good?"
"Yeah, yeah, I-" I start, sarcastically nodding along to Tom's lecture but then realising what I agreed to, turning to him with wide, accusing eyes, "- wait what?!"
With a toothy grin, Tom removes himself from behind the cracked and worn bar, reaching for an empty barrel of rum which he tucks under his wiry arm. Looking from Anne to me, he chuckles under his breath and pats my arm, "have fun, Lass."
"You selfish fuck," I cry, stomping my foot like a child throwing a tantrum over a favourite toy, "this is your bar and it was your decision to hire a new barmaid, so you should bloody train her."
"Can't do, North," Tom continues to chuckle, already strolling out the Old Avery with a skip in his step, "got a new shipment of rum and such coming in, someone's got to do a tally and make sure we're getting what we're owed."
"You can barely do simple addition and subtraction!"
"Have fun ladies," he calls over his shoulder, ignoring my obvious displeasure with a pleased smile, quickly disappearing from view.
I can't believe it, I thought but after a brief moment of reconsideration, I realised I could. While Tom was a man that was all about putting 110% into his job at the tavern, including stocktaking, training new recruits, keeping the tavern as immaculate as possible which in itself was a spectacular feat considering the people who ventured into the humble establishment. That being said, Tom was also the type of person who liked to sit back and relax, allowing others to do the jobs he was more reluctant to perform and as he was getting on in his years, most us were happy to help.
Plus, seeing me make a fool out of myself would be highly amusing to the ageing fool.
With a sigh, I pull back my auburn locks into a low ponytail, tucking strands behind my ears in a effort to keep the fly-away wisps from my mouth and turn to face my new companion. Anne Bonny stares down at me innocently, green eyes sparkling with both excitement and trepidation as she fiddles with the a loose thread on her puffy, cream-coloured sleeves. At least she looked ready to listen to and take into account the advice I was to offer her - it would make my job a lot easier.
"So… ready to start?" I ask, trying to sound more chipper and friendly than I felt. Although I held nothing against her, I was naturally wary of people I did not know and quite often shy, although this entire experience had pushed my right out of my comfort zone into the deep end. Although I had adapted, meeting new people was still a little disconcerting, particularly when they disrupted the norm established.
"You don't have to teach me, I'm sure I'll be able to pick up what I need to know if I'm thrust right into it," Anne tells me as I duck behind the bar, gathering two trays and a handful of old wags Tom generally kept in order to use around the Tavern.
"Of course I do, Tom asked it of me," I reply, handing her a tray, "and you'd be crushed if I sent you out now."
"I know how to handle myself," she says rather indignantly.
"I'm sure you do… but drunk pirates aren't exactly the same as drunk men, you know?"
"But you're uncomfortable," she continues to protest.
"Look," I say, brushing my hair out of my eyes with an irritated huff before placing both hands on my narrowed waist, my green-blue eyes looking up into hers, "it's not you, it's me. I just take a while to warm up to people - I honestly have nothing against you."
"Oh," she says with a small smile.
"And considering the fact that Tom will probably refuse to change his mind about your employment, I'm not heartless enough to toss you to the wolves without giving you a few helpful tips. The men here are like wild animals and that's being generous. Besides," I take a deep breath and offer my own small smile, tucking my tray under my right arm, handing Anne a spare rag, "It'll be nice to get some help around here. Hopefully we'll work well together."
"I hope so as well," Anne notes.
"Good. Now that that's out of the way, please follow me and I'll explain how Tom runs this little place." Turning on my heel, I head for a recently evacuated table, littered with empty and discarded mugs and plates with food which was slowly rotting under the glare of the hot Caribbean sun, Anne at my side.
She stops me however, before I can put down my tray and begin to clean, eyes wide and doe-eyed as she catches my attention. "Miss North, one last thing?" she asks in her lilting Irish accent.
"Sure. And it's Tessa, Anne, not Miss North. We look to be about the same age and anyways, if we're going to be working together from now on, the least I can do is allow you the curtsey of calling me by my name - my first name."
"Oh. Tessa? Okay. If you insist... umm, I was just wondering if we could - i mean, only if you want…" her eyes dart about nervously before she closes them, taking a deep breath in and then out. Opening her eyes, she grabs me by the shoulders and in one quick breath says, "I was wondering if we could be more than just colleges you know like friends?"
Blinking, I open and close my mouth like a fish, still processing what she had blurted out.
Taking it as a rejection, Anne releases her grip on my upper arms and shakes her head, a rather sad smile painted on her face. "I totally understand, don't worry about it… I mean it is kind of ludicrous…"
"Sure," I say simply, cutting her off as I turn my back to her and started cleaning up the table.
"Huh?"
"I said 'sure,' we can be friends," I explain, stacking the dirty dishes on my tray, followed immediately by the numbers mug littering the table's surface. "I know how hard it must be, not knowing anybody here… it's nice to have friends, someone you can trust."
"Really?" she asks excitedly, eyes shining with happiness.
I nod and Anne - startling me, which in turn causes my tray to flip out of my hands and all of the cutlery to fall to the floor in one massive, broken heap - grabs my hands and grins, "I'm so glad."
"Ummm, Anne?"
"Yes," she chirps.
I point at the mess.
Her expression falls.
"I'll clean that right up."
0-0-0-0-0-0
He was stuck.
Turning the old parchment in his hands, Edward carefully examines the inked lines and symbols for what had to be the millionth time - in all honesty, he didn't even need the piece of parchment, having learnt the diagram off by heart to the point where he could even replicate it. Although, despite his crystal clear memory, he was no closer to working out what the scrap detailed than he had been several years ago. He knew that it concerned the Observatory; exactly what it said about the Observatory was unclear...
Hence the fact that he was stuck.
God damnit, he thinks to himself, taking a sip of his drink only to find that there was nothing of substance in the pewter cup.
Perfect, just perfect.
"Another?" a pretty red-head, carefully balancing a flagon and a couple of plates of food atop a square tray, asks. At his nod, she reaches for the cup and places it atop the tray, a welcoming smile curling her ruby lips.
"A rum flip this time," he responds, watching her rather graceful movements. She was attractive to say the least; fair-skinned, heart-shaped face with an almost button nose, ruby locks that fell about her face with a small bunch of flowers blooming from her curls and a curvaceous body, several necklaces emphasising her cleavage and the openness of her blouse.
Yes, she was a beauty but...
But she wasn't her.
"And where'd I find fresh eggs in this wretched town?" she asks in a lilting Irish accent, biting her full bottom lip in frustration. Turning on her heel, she strides away with a slight shake of her hips, watching him over her shoulder. "There's little else but piss and insects," she continues with a roll of her eyes, sashaying towards Rackham, who - although incredibly drunk by this point in the day - looks at her hungrily with his chocolate eyes, a pleased smirk curling his lips, "and that is putting it nicely."
She acts almost exactly like... With an amused huff and a shake of his head, Edward returns his attention to the piece of parchment clasped in his hand, pushing away the thoughts of her that threatened to overthrow his concentration. "Aye," he answers the lady, stroking his chin, "we're working on that."
"Well, well, well," he heard Rackham say, voice slurred and heavy with drink, "dear lady, what do they call you?"
Oh this I have to see, Edward thought, peaking over his diagram to watch what would most likely be a rejection unfold. He was not alone in this - many of the patrons lounging about the tavern glanced over at the pair, many of whom stared at the red-head with utter adoration and longing. Edward could see some of the men swapping coins under the table and shaking hands, placing bets on the outcome of what could be a wonderful spectacle.
The lovely woman turns to Jack slowly, rolling her lovely green eyes. Cocking her head to one side, she purses her rosy lips and grabs the empty cup by the drunken pirate. "Anne, when they're sober," she says in her accented voice, holding the flagon by the tips of her slender fingers.
"A jilt when they're sauced," she continues, slamming the cup onto the tray and shooting the drunken man a glare that could freeze any man in his tracks, "but never lady."
However, like the idiot Rackham truly was, he was not deterred by the lovely ladies sharp tongue and look of disgust tainting her otherwise heavenly feature. Instead of backing away, he leans forward - more like falls - and attempts a roguish grin. "Well, goodly Anne," he slurs, reaching for her waist but as Anne had already escaped out of reach, Rackham instead finds himself falling almost face first out of his chair. A chorus of laughter echoes throughout the bar, Edward himself smiling from his perch as his friend rolls on the dusty floorboard, groaning.
"A rum flip was it?" Anne enquires as she passes Edward by, a friendly smile once again gracing her fine features.
"Don't worry about it, Anne," an all too familiar voice answers before Edward could have the chance. With a soft thump, a fresh flagon of alcohol sat at his side, the froth on top a pearly, delectable white that made him smile - but the smile slipped as he glanced to his right, into a face that made his heart painfully race and butterflies to flutter excitedly in the pit of his stomach.
Ignoring him, Tessa offers Anne a smile that put the sun to shame - a smile that lit up his world... and made him feel as if his heart was being strangled. "I've got it," she continues, balancing a tray laden with drinks in one hand and several flagons in her other.
"Thanks Tessa," Anne says gratefully as she hurries away.
"Tess," Edward begins, his fist clenching around the parchment, wrinkling the already old and damaged page.
"Rackham, you okay?" she calls out to the drunk, brushing past Edward with her luminescent eyes obstinately trained on the stairs she carefully made her way down.
"I'm just fiiiiine," he calls back, using his chair to support his alcohol-laiden body as he struggled to his feet, "absolutely perfect. I'll take another round."
"Tess," Edward tries again, stashing the document into his pockets and getting to his feet, his eyes following her attractive figure
"You'll get another round when pigs start to fly," Tessa responds to Rackham with a wry smile, disregarding Edward's call as she places a series of drinks on a nearby counter to the delight of its occupants before moving off to another.
"Tessa."
"Here you go, two rum flips and something called a syllabub?" she continues, twitching a little at the urgency and irritation in Edwards voice but she keeps her smile, watching the three men sitting at the table laugh at her terrible pronunciation.
"Enjoy," she chirps, spinning on her heel and attempting to flee from the handsome pirate, only for his strong grip to close around her forearm and hold her in place. If she'd been carrying drinks, they would have surely ended up on the floor as Edward pulled her closer, forcing Tessa to brace her hands on his chest as she trips over her own feet - still she does not look him the eye, afraid that if she did she would do something she'd regret.
"Tess," Edward starts off slowly and quietly, dipping his head low so he can easily catch her gaze but her eyes stubbornly refuse to meet his, focusing instead on the fine yet slightly tarnished silver buckle adorning his holster.
"I have to get back to work," she tells him quietly, trying to pull away but his grip only tightens and her heartbeat quickens.
"No you don't."
"And how would you know that?" she snaps back, pushing at his chest and still refusing to meet his intense, spine-tingling gaze, "Anne is still quite new and we're quite busy, considering it's the middle of the day. I have to wipe down tables, place orders, deliver rum-"
"Tessa, for fucks sake, will just look at me," Edward growls.
She pauses.
"And why should I?" she asks softly.
"You've been avoiding me," Edward says and the words leave a bitter taste in his mouth, his heart like a solid weight in his chest, sinking to the pit of his clenching, tight stomach. The confusion, the grief, the anger; all the emotions he'd been trying to keep at bay barrel into him - it felt as if a physical blow had knocked him off his feet - and still she would not meet his gaze.
It was painful.
He'd forgotten how destructive love could be. The truth was that although he did still care for his wife, that he did still have intentions of going back for her if only to repay her for the hard life he had given her through their marriage, Tessa was all he could think about.
Tessa with her fiery, golden-red hair and her luminescent green-blue eyes that reminded him so strongly of the sea. Tessa, whose skin still felt soft to the touch, despite days of hard work at the Old Avery and harsh sun aboard the Jackdaw. Tessa, whose rosy lips and stunning smiles made his pulse race and his thoughts disappear. Tessa, whose personality outshone the brightest star in the sky, whose soft spoken words and kind, friendly demeanour charmed anyone and everyone she met. Tessa, who made him feel content and anguished and passionate and annoyed and happy and intoxicated and loved - so much love - all at once.
Theresa North.
His Tessa... his Tess.
And she wouldn't even look him in the eye.
"I haven't been avoiding you," she whispers, her slender shoulders hunching as her body tenses, "now please, let me-"
"That's bullshit and you know it," he hisses.
"Edward-"
"Why... just tell me why."
With an almost defeated sigh, Tessa finally raises her head and meets his gaze. To catch a glimpse of those eyes... all the tension in his body seems to fade away; his heart, although steadily increasing in momentum, feels lighter and his stomach no longer makes him feel as if he's about to be sick. Instead, he feels a kind of warmth fill his body and the all-to-familiar urge to sweep Tessa into his arms, to kiss her full, red lips and steal her away from the lustful eyes of many of the Tavern patrons - many of whom he wanted to punch the living daylights out of just for looking her way. She really was beautiful, far more beautiful than the new barmaid Anna? Angie? Anne? - that last one sounded about right - but what did it matter, when she stood before him?
He was so caught up, he didn't catch her murmured words at first. It took a while for them to sink in but once they did, it felt like a punch to the gut.
"Because you were avoiding me."
Coming to his senses, Edward loosens his grip upon her forearms but does not look away, desperately committing each detail of her exquisite face to memory - not that he hadn't already done that in the past - as he struggles to find the right words to reply. Honestly, when was the last time a girl had left him so tongue-tied? He had no doubt that Thatch, Hornigold and Vane would fracture a rip or rupture their spleen if they saw how flustered he was before this doe-eyed, petite woman. "I haven't been avoiding you," he answers slowly, shaking his head to clear it from the barrage of questions floating through his brain; why does she think that? Did I do something to make her think that? Obviously I did but I don't know what...
With a self-depreciating laugh, she shakes her head and looks away, an almost regretful and definitely saddened look upon her face, turning down the corners of her luscious lips. "Sure I've seen you around and all..." she begins, the slender fingers of her right hand reaching for the silver locket looped around her throat, playing gently with the chain as she spoke, "but since arriving in Nassau after what happened in Kingston... you've barely spoken two words to me, Edward."
"That's not-" he starts but she cuts him off with a withering glare.
"Do you know how I found out your father had passed?" she demands, shaking her head in utter disbelief, "from Vane of all people... Thatch, maybe even Hornigold I could handle, but Vane?! I didn't even know that your parents were still alive, let alone living over in England. Each time I say hello, you either disappear or completely ignore me. You'd rather party hard with the rest of your drunken friends than share a drink with me... you don't care to mention when you leave to go hunting or when you have a new assassin contract - nothing... you just disappear. It reminds me very much of how this relationship used to be before we actually decided that we were friends. So... are we no longer friends? Is that why you've been avoiding me? If that's the case than just tell me."
"I-" Edward begins, flustered and yet once again he is cut off, not by a glare but by a look that could honestly break his heart, if it wasn't already in pieces.
"Tell me how all that constitutes as 'not avoiding me,'" she cries, angrily brushing away tears that she didn't want to shed - she hated to cry but somehow, Edward always seemed to bring her to tears, whether they be happy or sad. "Because I sure as Hell don't understand how it can't be..."
"Tessa, I-"
"If you wanted to just forget about Kingston, then I get it," she continues, "but don't just cut me out."
"That wasn't my intention," Edward insists, trying to pull her into a hug but she fights against him and he is forced to let go.
"Look... I have to work," Tessa says, straightening the front of her simple dress, tightening her apron. She bends over and retrieves her serving tray from the scratched floorboards, once again avoiding his gaze, "if you would excuse me..."
"Tess," he tries again, reaching for her once more but she dances out of reach, hugging the tray to her chest.
When did things get so fucked up between us? Edward found himself wondering, as he watched the woman he loved, tremble and fight to keep herself together as she turned her back to him, ready to return to work.
If I had just... if we had just moved forward back in Kingston, would things be different? Would he be able to hold her small body against his, run his fingers through her soft, silky strands, comfort her - kiss her - take all of her worries and insecurities and stress off those small shoulders that seemed to be carrying the weight of the world.
Would she be his?
0-0-0-0-0-0
"It's a bag of shite! Do you hear me? It's a bag of bloody shite!"
Even as I turn to flee from Edward, every inch of my body still yearning for his touch, I can't help but pause mid-step and turn my head towards the deep, clearly outraged voice that could only belong to one Captain Charles Vane. Almost as if we were attached by an invisible piece of string, Edward and I simultaneously head towards the edge of the Tavern's balcony, overlooking the dirt paved streets of Nassau and lean over the rail, trying to gauge the situation. We watch Thatch turn his back on Hornigold and Vane, shaking his head in disbelief as he paces; Edward's eyes clearly focused on Thatch's back while mine are drawn to Vane.
"Oi Vane," I yell, startling Edward and the notoriously erratic Captain below, "watch your language will you?"
"Go get fucked, North," he hollers back, not-to-pleased with my smartass commentary.
"Watch what you say to her, Vane! Don't make me come down there and beat the shit out of you," Edward yells back, anger colouring his handsome face.
"I would but I'm on the clock," I answer Vane, shaking my head in partial amusement and irritation, "what are the lot of you arguing about now? You're causing quite a stir." In fact, many of the patrons within the Old Avery had turned their heads towards the commotion, murmuring under their breath with confusion evident on their dirty, scraggly faces. But Vane ignores me, turning back to Hornigold with a definite tone of urgency in his scratchy, deep voice, hands wildly gesturing. Nonetheless, both Edward and I can easily catch the conversation from our advantageous little perch.
"It's a ruse," Vane declares, grabbing Hornigold by the shoulder and shaking him slightly, "it's a ruse to keep us soft before they attack Nassau! You'll see. Mark me."
"It's no ruse, Vane," Thatch snarls, turning mid-stride to glare at his fellow pirate, "I heard it straight from the mouth of a greasy Bermudian captain."
"Stay here," Edward murmurs in my ear, his hand lightly brushing over my shoulder as he does. When I flinch from the brief contact, I notice Edward's face fall but it quickly regain composure and he moves away from the railing, hurrying down the stairs towards his friends.
After a moment of hesitation, I follow.
Undoing my apron as I go, I look over my shoulder and call out to Anne, catching her attention almost immediately. With a quizzical look in my direction, she hurries over with a tray lined with dirty cups and plates and takes my apron off my hands as I rush away. "Do you think you can handle things as they are?" I ask.
"Of course," she says.
"Thanks."
"There's a pardon," I hear Thatch sigh as I catch up to Edward's retreating form, "for any pirate that wants it."
"Ruse or no," I hear Hornigold say as I ignore the glare Edward shoots me as I reach his side, my shoulder brushing against his forearm. Hornigold's voice is cool, collected and calm as it always is - I can picture him trying to settle Vane's notorious temper and paranoia and oddly, the thought makes me smile. Even when it sounded like things were falling apart around them - around us - Hornigold always tried to keep it together; it was to be expected, since the man was one of the founders and de facto leaders of Nassau.
"I think it's plain the British may return to Nassau," he continues wryly, "with arms no doubt."
"Perfect," Vane mutters, throwing his arms into the air and immediately stalking away, heading for the Old Avery no doubt to drink away his frustrations, "fucking perfect."
"No need to have a meltdown over it," I say to Vane as he passes.
He gives me the finger as he goes by, snarling under his breath.
"We'll need a plan," Hornigold murmurs to Thatch.
The latter looks over as Edward and I approach, a grim look on his bearded, usually fearsome face. He claps Edward's shoulder as he strides over and offers me what appears to be a smile - but considering the fact that the man rarely did smile, it was more of a grimace than anything else - and squeezes my shoulder. "Walk with us," he says to the pair of us, shaking his head and already beginning to walk off up the near deserted street, "there's trouble brewing..."
"Why is it that that's always the case when the three of you are involved?" I ask wearily, near jogging to catch up with the three men who were more than a head taller than myself and had a lengthy, fast-paced stride.
"Funny," Edward says, grabbing my hand and pulling me to his side. He immediately lets my much smaller hand go once his pace is matched to mine, awkwardly avoiding my gaze as his lips curl into an amused smile, "I was just thinking the same thing."