Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Monday morning finds Edward fiddling with his phone incessantly. Typically, technology enthralls him and instills an aching need to know every nuance. Despite the tendency toward complication it creates in retaining the secret of their existence, Edward genuinely enjoys utilizing its aspects. However, this morning, after over twenty-four hours without word from Bella, he is cursing his hand-held device, pleading with the screen to show him something. Unfortunately for him, his needs will go unheeded for at least a few more hours since Bella is unusually reluctant to use the cell, despite Edward's request that she do so at any whim. Even so, the encrypted and untraceable device is burning a hole in her pocket, like she can feel an electronic pulsing through the layers of denim at her leg. When she takes the time to send him a quick text at the beginning of her lunch hour, Edward is cleaning out his corner of the science department's communal office at Forks High.
Feeling his phone's faint vibration, he removes it from his pocket and reads, Can you come over after classes? Charlie's working a double.Avoiding the curious glances from his former colleagues, he collects the single cardboard box containing his teaching props, and approaches the cafeteria. On his way, he sends a reply: Certainly. Can I cook for you? When Edward gets close enough to catch a glimpse of Bella, he surreptitiously scans her face, certain that no children can see his adoring gaze. He's keen to observe the minds around him in order to avoid detection, but when Bella receives his message, he is too distracted to do much beyond watch her. As she reads, her body tells the story of a happy human heart. Her face lights up, her cheeks pink with delight, and a wide, white smile catches the attention of her tablemates. She may have hidden the phone beneath the table, but she can't conceal her obvious reaction from Edward, who's invigorated by the sound of her heart accelerating in excitement. His earlier agitation vanishes as he watches Bella unblinkingly, and her simple proximity eases the ache in his heart.
After only several more seconds of spying, Edward decides it's wise to move on before he's discovered staring at a student. After a trip to the front office for a quick conversation with Principal Green, and a formalized and documented resignation process, Edward vacates the building for the last time. As he slips into the R8, his phone vibrates with a second text: You can cook? I'm not sure I like venison. He wastes no time sending a response: I can do a great many things, beautiful. How does Italian sound?Suddenly, sitting in the teacher parking lot behind the high school, waiting on a single text sounds like a superb idea. Seven minutes later, her response comes through: Good. See you after school? Edward is perfectly honest in his reply when he sends, It's not soon enough.
Edward is familiar with an interesting bit of relationship wisdom that the power in any pairing lies with the person who cares the least. In this regard, Edward is happy to cede any upper hand he has to Bella, given that there is very little equality between them. Edward is sure that his love for her runs deeper for the moment, if for no other reason than his immense age and anticipation, but she is young and unsure while he is wise and confident. Bella's body is relatively frail and weak, while Edward is almost indestructible. Add his allure, and freakish perfection, and his beloved's disadvantages become nearly unbearable to him. Edward is already hopelessly devoted, but he's worried about the repercussions of their differences.
These inequities have weighed heavily on his heart, and he fears the intractability of the situation. For Edward, it boils down to a single burning question, one which has clawed him in his darkest moments: Can she love me like I am? His only course of action, as it occurs to him, is to grant Bella every measure of control in their interactions, and to make sure she knows she's in charge, thereby tipping those scales into some semblance of balance between them. It's the most frightening proposition of his entire life, laying himself bare before the only person with the power to destroy him, but he can't seem to muster any fear; he's far too excited to flaunt his culinary expertise.
Several hours later, Bella barges in her front door to find Edward camped out in the kitchen, hovering over the stove, slowly stirring a simmering red sauce. Bella's expression is undeniably incredulous and confused. She meant to ask something different, but the question that comes out is a little harsh, "How did you get in here?"
"It would be prudent to lock your bedroom window in the future."
"You broke into the Police Chief's house, and you're talking to me about prudence? Are you sure you're sane? I mean, sixteen hundred years is a long time to hold it together."
Edward stalks towards her with a guilty grin, "I'll admit I'm a little crazy. Crazy 'bout you, babe." The endearment sounds unnatural to his ears, but it has his desired effect; Bella promptly blushes, giggles and changes the subject. He holds the sauce spoon up to her mouth and silently begs her to taste his concoction. She does, and her satisfied sounds fire desire down all of his extremities. Instead of tossing her on the kitchen table and staking his claim, he smiles beatifically, content to have her close and conversing.
"You realize it's not even close to dinner time, right? I just ate lunch a couple of hours ago, and I'm not really hungry." Edward takes her hand and brings it to his mouth, placing several kisses along her wrist.
"I'm aware. But this particular recipe requires several hours of preparation. I wouldn't know from personal experience, but I've been told that cooking something slowly releases the flavors fully. Supposedly, it's quite tasty."
"You're slow-cooking sauce in my kitchen." She shakes her head slightly, then points a finger at him, "Don't. Move. I'll be right back."
In her absence, Edward busies himself with the preparation of her dinner, making sure they'll have time to talk. When she returns, he is blown away by Bella's simple and subtle beauty. She stands at the bottom of the foot-worn stairs, looking like a goddess. She's released her hair from the confines of a ponytail, and the fading afternoon light slips through the slats in the blinds behind her, illuminating her dark tresses. His scrutiny seems unwelcome, though, and he's chagrinned when she scolds, "Stop looking at me like that."
"Why should I? You're beautiful, captivating. I couldn't stop if I tried."
Bella hesitates, and then says with quiet certainty, "It's too much."
"So I'm coming on too strong, then."
"No, it's not that. I..."
"Tell me what you're thinking, before I actually go mad."
"You really want to know what's going on up here?" she gestures to her head. "It's not a very inviting place."
"Your thoughts are your own. I only want to know you." He doesn't add, in every way.
"I'm being stupid, I guess. It just seems too good to be true. I have this supernatural stud suddenly in love with me." She slaps her lips shut at this admission, and her face shows outright astonishment. Edward gestures for her to continue with slight nod and the sweetest smile he can manage. "I've been thinking since Saturday. It took time to process."
Edward can't stop the concern from crawling all over his face, contorting his formerly happy features. "I didn't exactly ease you into this. I'm sorry for that."
"Don't be. I needed to know, and I'm happy with how everything has happened between us. I'm just not used to feeling this way."
Edward was nearing a panicked state at the direction of their conversation. Where Bella is concerned, he has a tendency to fear the worst and find flaws their situation and in himself where there are none. It's a product of his inexperience in all matters of the heart. He's seen three separate couples fall in love in front of his eyes, and in his mind, but seeing something, and living love are two starkly different propositions. He comes to this realization as Bella speaks, and he is comforted by the knowledge that in this regard, at least, they are on equal footing. So he tells her, "Neither am I. I don't know if I made this clear before, Bella, but I've never had any remotely romantic feelings before. We are both feeling 'this way' for the first time. But I was prepared for you in a way that you couldn't be."
"What do you mean," she interrupts.
"I've been waiting for you, my love. For so long." At his admission, Edward can feel the full effect Bella has had on him in the short week he's known her. He can't help but pull her close, bury his face in the thickness of her hair, and revel in the electric sensation of her skin against him. "You're probably not ready to hear this, but I'm am in love with you."
"I know." And the tender, intense moment is eradicated with her playful, shy statement.
"Oh, do you?" They are both grinning, clutching one another in an emphatic embrace.
"It's not exactly a state secret. I knew what 'm cara meant after the first time you said it." At his inquisitive look, she comments, "The internet is an amazing thing. Why Welsh?"
"It has an important place in my mind. It was the first language I learned to read and write, along with Latin."
"Not Caledonian?"
"We didn't have a written language. At the time, most languages, like mine, used symbols for places and people when necessary. Life was simpler, slower then. We had no real need for most knowledge."
"Will you teach me to speak it?" He almost doesn't catch the question with her hands tracing indeterminate patterns on his back. When he processes her request, it eases any doubts that he might've had about Bella wanting to belong to him. Only his mate could match his desires so effortlessly.
"I would love to teach you. But before I continue to cook your dinner, I'd like to make a deal with you." Bella tells him to go ahead, slightly wary but curious about his request. "Promise me that you'll tell me if this becomes too much." It's clear to her that he's referring to their burgeoning relationship. "I want you to set the pace." Edward grins at her and says, "I march to the beat of your drum, darling."
"You're kinda lame, you know?" She may have vaguely insulted him, but she's blushing and beautiful and squeezing her arms around him as tightly as possible.
"I apologize if I'm not hip with the lingo, yo."
Bella busts out a full blown belly-laugh before she catches her breath and informs, "That sounded so wrong."
"I'm aware. Try to understand that I've spent the majority of the last three hundred years as a graduate student or the time period's equivalent. Slang isn't exactly a strong suit for career academics."
Bella looks at him with a stunned look on her face. "You've spent three hundred years going to school?"
"What? I like to learn." Their banter continues as Bella begs to help him cook her dinner, complaining that she should help if he's not even going to eat, and Edward is more than happy to have her by his side. In the heat of the kitchen, with the stove and oven burning, Bella's scent is intoxicating, as it's intensified by the slight sheen of sweat that's accumulated across her exposed skin. He feels like he's in tidal lock, his pale face forever focused in her direction as she flutters about the kitchen. Standing in her home is serene, but watching Bella in her element is enough to enthrall him; it's clear her comfort level here has relaxed her enough to relieve whatever tension she'd felt around him before. Her smiles come quicker and easier, her wit and sarcasm simultaneously more biting and playful. What's best for Edward is her easy affection. She's not hesitant to touch and tease, and it's brought Edward to the brink of his control, to the very edge of desire.
After the meal, which leaves Bella suitably impressed with his cooking skills, Edward insists that she complete her homework. Bella does so without complaint, but only after her equally fervent insistence on his continued company and assistance. Twilight finds them on her twin bed, Edward's back against the headboard, Bella's back against him as she attempts to read through her English assignment. This task is difficult for her, considering his hands in her hair, and an occasional cool breath on her neck. While she pretends to plow through Things Fall Apart, Edward braids her hair, twisting and twining the soft strands in complicated patterns. He is mesmerized by the feel of her hair slipping over and through his fingers, but it doesn't detract him from the task. By the time he is finished, only a few moments remain before Charlie returns.
Bella stands, and makes her way to a small mirror above her desk. Gathering the varied plaits in her hands, she turns to Edward and says, "It's beautiful. Where did you learn to do this?"
"I'm not sure. It must be some remnant of my human life."
"I've never seen anything like it. Thank you."
"You're most welcome. Your father will be home soon, so I must go."
Disappointment is evident on both of their faces. "When will I see you?"
"You still have the phone I gave you? Please call me anytime, day or night, and I will come to you. We can designate it the bat-phone."
After a laugh, "Where will you be this weekend?"
"I'm taking your father fishing."
"Oh yeah? There are some pretty good spots around here, or so he says."
"In Montana."
"For the weekend? That's kind of a long drive for just a few days. I've gotta warn you, Charlie isn't great road-trip material. Real quiet guy."
"Bella, my family owns a rather large and extremely fast jet airplane. Billy Black and Harry Clearwater are coming along to keep him company, as well. Unfortunately, your father is turning onto your street as we speak so, I really must go. Call me later, and I'll tell you all about it. Don't mention it to him yet, alright?" After a quick but intense kiss, Edward opens the window to Bella's second story bedroom and backs up a few feet. Intent on teasing her, he wink, blows a kiss and says, "Wish me luck!"
Leaving his beloved with a startled look on her face, he crow-hops and then swan-dives out the window, flipping upright only a few feet from the ground. Before Bella can catch her breath at the strange sight, he has broken into a full sprint and vanished into the forest behind her home.
The rest of the week gets neatly packaged away, time flying by in interesting increments. Between convincing the Quileute elders to get on a private plane with Edward and Carlisle as pilot and copilot and stealing secret moments with Bella when Chief Swan is absent or otherwise occupied, planning their weekend excursion has left Edward with little time to himself. Ultimately, the plan comes together with startling efficiency. Even Edward's phone call to Charlie Swan is unnervingly easy.
Edward dials the phone number smoothly, but he feels like his fingers should shake. He considers hanging up after the second ring, but gathers the courage to persevere. Chief Swan answers with a gruff, "Hello."
"Chief Swan, this is Edward Cullen. Do you have a minute to talk?"
"Sure. You're Carlisle's younger brother, right?"
Edward laughs and says, "Something like that. Listen, I've got a proposition for you. Any plans this weekend?"
"Well, a friend told me to clear my schedule. So yeah, I may be busy."
"Would that friend be Billy Black or Harry Clearwater?"
"Uh, yeah, actually. How'd you know that? What's this about?" Apparently the Chief is in a good mood, because he's laughing through both of his questions.
"Well, I've invited the two of them, and some younger men from the reservation to go fly-fishing this weekend with me and Carlisle. We've got a cabin in Montana near the Blackfoot river. It's coming down to the end of trout season, and we'd like to make the trip one more time. There's more than enough room on the plane if you'd like to tag along."
The Chief laughs and snorts before responding, "Let me come clean, Eddie. Billy told me all about it. I didn't quite believe it until just now. I've pulled my fly rod out of storage and taken Friday off. I'm normally not one to inflict myself on anybody, but I wouldn't miss this for the world. I've got just one question."
"Go right ahead." Nervousness does not agree with Edward.
"Why did I get an invite? Other than my obvious affinity for fishing."
Phone conversations have never been Edward's strong suit, since he relies so heavily on his abilities, so he opts for candor, "I tell you what, Chief. You come along, and I'll tell you while we're on the river."
"Sounds like a fair deal. Thanks for including me. How do I..."
"Meet us after your shift on Thursday at the Port Angeles airport. The private flights entrance." They exchange numbers in case of unexpected changes in the plan; Alice predicts good weather, but she's not infallible or foolproof.
The Chief, chuckling heartily, ends the phone call with a curt, "Until Thursday." After Edward hangs up, he's startled by the ease with which Charlie Swan acquiesced. He wonders what extent Billy Black went to procure such a complete agreement.
Perhaps the man is smitten with the serenity that suffuses each brisk morning he ventures onto some small body of water to cast and reel and catch. Edward wouldn't be surprised if this is the case, considering it's the reason he and Carlisle purchased the Montana property in the first place. They spent a sizable portion of their savings on the estate, a twenty-five thousand acre tract of hill-country, with a large trout-filled river, and two tributaries that feed a variety of wildlife. They've owned the ranch for nearly one hundred years, and they frequent it as often as they dare for the scenic tranquility; this particular home is their vampire fortitude, a continental castle that creates a buffer between them and the scant smatterings of humanity that reside nearby. Even though they have no feeding interest in cold-blooded fish, Edward, Emmet and Carlisle have always found the motion of casting a fly-rod to be soothing, and genuinely entertaining. Since their Montana home is remote and isolated, they can visit as often as they like to get their fishing fix. That the property has a plethora of tasty predators is simply a bonus for both of them.
Thursday evening come quickly enough, and as Alice predicts, the weather cooperates well enough for Edward's purposes. After fueling and preparing the plane for departure, he and Carlisle wait patiently for the Wolves and the accompanying elders to arrive. When the Quileute caravan shows, carrying three oversized almost-adolescents and two older men, they walk calmly over to their car. When they near, the shifter in charge, Sam Uley, puts his hand up palm out and sternly says, "Stop right there. What do you need."
Edward has warned Carlisle of the shifters' shaky emotional states and of their tendency toward overreaction and anger, so he's not surprised when Edward laughs a little and responds, "We were going to offer to stow your bags below, but you're welcome to carry them aboard. Unfortunately you'll have to hold them in your lap for the duration of the flight considering there are no overhead bins on my plane."
"Oh. Well, I guess that's... alright." He eyes the elders like a scolded child and informs him, "They're in the back."
"Pop the trunk." Harry and Billy don't say much, but there is a healthy dose of fear and caution for the two unknown vampires despite the trust they've placed in their young companion's judgment. Edward hears this, and decides to ignore their beady stares for the moment, hoping he'll have the time on their trip to remove their petty prejudice. When he and Carlisle both have two huge handfuls of assorted luggage, they move back towards the plane, leaving the wolves and their elders standing awkwardly around their vehicle. Edward exchanges an amused look with Carlisle, and shouts over his shoulder, "On the hop, gentleman. You're going to have to board the plane eventually."
Jared decides to add his two cents, "Can we wait until the last minute?"
"You're insinuating we stink?" When the three wolves glance among themselves in disbelief, Edward concedes, "Oh alright, you don't exactly smell like fresh daisies, either. Let's wait until the Chief gets here. And try not to act too conspicuously wolfy around him, alright? Some of us have our anonymity to maintain."
"Yeah, alright." Sam's response is about as flat as Edward's attempt at humor. They wait for only a few minutes until he arrives. When the Chief slides out of his cruiser, he is all smiles and satisfied fisherman. He greets Carlisle warmly with a familiar handshake and head nod and turns to Edward. They've yet to meet face-to-face, a fact that is not lost on him. Nevertheless, Edward shakes his hand firmly and makes solid eye contact, careful to appear as non-threatening as possible. When he hones in on Charlie's thoughts, he is only slightly surprised to find them muddled and partially obscure. It's obvious that Bella's quirk of mental silence is an inherited genetic trait. He's so excited by the prospect of studying the phenomenon that he can hardly contain his impulse to tell Carlisle on the spot. Instead, he marshals what little wherewithal he's maintained after meeting the father, and addresses the group, "Everybody ready? We've got a drive once we land, so let's go ahead and get in the air."
Once everyone is inside, Carlisle points out the pertinent interior attributes of the plane for the human passengers: the lavatory, the galley, etc. The wolves are especially impressed with the fully integrated, centrally installed gaming systems that have a monitor at each seat. To Edward, it's only evidence of the lengths Emmet will go to be close to weapons, cars, and sports, but he'd be lying if he said that he hadn't enjoyed them on occasion. After taking the pilot's chair, and making the final flight check, Edward comes over the intercom, "Buckle up folks, we're about to push."
In the midst of taxiing out to the runway, mashing buttons and pressing levers, he says to Carlisle, "Do you think we should tell them about Rose's engine modifications?"
"They're about to find out." They exchange an almost evil grin, and Edward pushes the throttle. One thing can be stated for certain, Rosalie Hale knows her engineering. The two dual-channel Rolls Royce turbofans that power the Citation are works of art after they come off the production line, but any subsequent changes that Rose makes only serve to show her absolute genius with engines. The new cruising speed is certainly illegal, and the acceleration off the runway is staggering, even for a vampire, so it's no surprise that they hear several groans of g-force displeasure as they careen down the tarmac. By the time they achieve liftoff, well short of the plane's advertised takeoff distance, they are traveling at over two hundred miles per hour. Edward mashes the throttle with gusto once they're off the ground, and every supernatural being on the plane delights at the rush. Edward realizes the simple feat they've already accomplished; Vampires and Shifters enjoying life together, hurtling in a copacetic direction.
Chapter Notes:
* Billy Black is not in a wheelchair. He has full use of his legs at the moment.
* The next update will be a continuation of the present narrative; for our next chapter we will continue on to Montana and the fishing trip.
A/N: Thanks to Stratan, the Correction Chief. And to all my readers and reviewers: Y'all are better than a private jet. Rock on.
I'd like to make another recommendation. If you are looking for a new story, here's one that I've enjoyed: Eternal Damnation by Zomniac .net/s/5246652/1/Eternal_Damnation
In Zomniac's own words: An ill tempered Bella and an easily annoyed Edward don't exactly mix well...at all. Will these two see each other only through their all-encompassing hatred, or will certain events open their eyes to the soul within? Why is it that their paths always seem to cross? Twilight told with a strong, angry Bella, and a more controlled, bad tempered Edward. B/E, AU, canon pairings, OOC
It's vampire Edward vs. Rough and Tumble, maybe-human, Bella. Enjoy the show.