Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns it. I'm just playing.
Author's Note: Enjoy this chapter and the next two. Fluff is a dying breed in this story (even if it is tension-laced).
The Detente
I stretched my legs out in front of me, my thighs aching in protest. Setting my feet down on the ground, I relaxed my entire body, resting easily on the porch stairs. The sun was warm as it beat down on my legs and I could feel heat through the denim. A pleasant fatigue worked its way through my limbs, rendering me blissfully immobile.
I heard the front door open behind me and footsteps on the wood. I craned my neck around, a small smile touching my mouth as Edward made his way back outside towards me, balancing two plates and two glasses of water.
Returning the smile easily, he handed one of the plates to me before sitting down at my side. I couldn't really say that Edward's face lit up when he saw me…not the same way I was sure mine did. But that pained, controlled expression had begun to fade when his eyes fell on me. His body would relax and he would look…not happy, but interested. Like being here with me was more than some duty he had to carry out.
I, on the other hand, had begun to measure time in the days that passed until I got to see him again.
Since we had arrived in Colorado, my life had been centered around Edward, whether I had wanted it to be or not. Hours spent alone were punctuated by his presence at the end of the day; days of solitude washed in tension as I waited for him to return home. Even when I had wanted to avoid him, wanted to ignore him, wanted to hate him, he was still the only certainty my life held.
Everything was different now.
In the past few weeks, the tension between us had all but evaporated. Everything remained unsaid, lingering inches below the surface, and I knew that one day it would become unavoidable. For now, though, we made small talk and cracked jokes and smiled and laughed. It was something that had been rare between us from the beginning.
Every Saturday morning I could feel my heart beating out a cold sweat, anticipating and dreading his arrival. My ears would perk and my head would swing around when I heard the crunch of tires on the driveway. The first weekend he brought the paint up in Emmett's truck, I had twined my arms around his neck without thinking. The violent flush of my face and his muttered assurances that it was fine stopped me from doing it again.
Edward gently set down the full glasses on the first step, careful not to bump them with his long legs as he adjusted himself into a more comfortable position, one step above me.
I looked down at the sandwich, lifting it from the plate eagerly and taking a huge bite without any hesitation.
"God bless you, Edward," I mumbled and choked, moaning gratefully through a mouthful of sticky peanut butter.
Edward looked down at me and smirked, amused. "Not a problem."
I grinned back at him as I swallowed with some difficulty. Taking another large bite greedily, I was surprised at how much I had missed the simple, young taste of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. After skipping breakfast in the morning in favor of helping Edward strip the left side of the house, I was sure any food would have tasted good. But this? This was heavenly.
"Not that I really mind," Edward commented, biting into his own sandwich. "But is there any particular reason why you're wimping out on me so early today? I mean, we haven't been working for that long. At least, not compared to most weekends."
"I don't know," I replied with a shrug, grabbing my water and washing the thick film of peanut butter from the back of my throat. "I've been spending a lot of time with Alice this week. I think it's starting to catch up with me."
"Working?" he wondered.
"Mostly," I agreed with a nod. "She's also been teaching me to ride. It's a lot of fun but I get pretty sore…"
I grinned at him and was surprised to see his eyes narrow slightly. He looked away from me, towards the Whitlock's cabin.
"Do you fall?" he asked, his voice vague and detached.
"Not yet." I chuckled at his concern and poorly feigned nonchalance. "But I figure it's only a matter of time."
He nodded. "Seems a little risky."
"I'm careful," I told him, straightening a little beside him. Then I leaned over and bumped my shoulder against his playfully. "It's really fun, Edward. You should come by and try it sometime."
A hint of a smile touched the corners of his mouth and he looked down to his sandwich; then turned back to me. "I'm not much of a rider."
"You've ridden before?" I asked him, surprised.
"A few times," Edward confirmed with a nod. "My father loved it."
His smile fell at the mention of his father.
I shifted uncomfortably, unsure of what to say. I knew almost nothing about Carlisle Cullen, about what he was like, what he enjoyed, what he detested, and the effect he had on people around him. I wanted desperately to speak to Edward freely, to offer condolences, to ask questions and learn what I could about the man who had raised my husband and who Esme had loved so dearly.
As far as we had come in the past weeks, I still didn't feel like I had the right to talk about Carlisle Cullen.
"Alice said he was thrilled when she and Jasper set up over the hill," I recalled the only piece of information I had been given about Edward's late father, my voice sympathetic. "Some of the land the horses live on belongs to your family, right?"
"It all used to belong to us."
"What?" My eyebrows shot up curiously as I plopped my sandwich down on my plate and reached for more water.
"My father sold the land to Alice and Jasper for their horses and their cabin," Edward explained, his expression growing distant. "He gave them everything."
"I didn't know that," I said quietly.
We were silent for several moments. I studied Edward's expression carefully, watching him look out at the land before us. I wondered if it bothered him, Carlisle's generosity. He gave them everything. The way he had said it was quiet and almost bitter. Edward's father had obviously loved Alice and Jasper as his own children, where his only son had practically become a stranger.
Because of me, I reminded myself.
I was the reason for Edward's estrangement from his family. I was the spark that had caused the jealous grief he felt now.
I battled the urge to reach out and brush some of the hair from his face.
I looked away at last, following his eyes, trying to see what he saw. I knew it was pointless. There was nothing physical drawing his gaze.
"So you like it?" I heard his voice suddenly. My eyes snapped back to his and I cocked my head to one side in question. He clarified, "Riding horses?"
There was no hesitation in my response. "I really love it," I told him enthusiastically, forgetting almost immediately the sadness and pity I had been feeling moments before. He had always been so good at distracting me. "It's not like anything I've ever done before."
His answering smile was small, but there was a hint of laughter in his words. "A little different than riding a motorcycle?"
My mind lingered for barely a second on Jacob's smiling face, teaching me to ride dirt bikes out in the La Push reservation.
I was surprised how quickly I was able to push the image aside.
"It's weird but it's…not even similar to that," I replied hesitantly. I continued, my words staggered and struggling. "I mean, you're not just some thing sitting on their back. There's this weird…connection. I take care of them and they take care of me, and it's almost like…" I shook my head, not knowing how to explain it. Then I added softly, "I've never felt anything like it…that mutual trust."
Edward stared at me for a long time, his face unreadable.
Finally, he spoke with a small smile. "You look like my father."
"What?" I blinked, confused.
"When you talk about them," he explained. "You get this look on your face…you look like Carlisle."
His eyes were intense on mine, but I couldn't tell what he was thinking. I felt heat rushing to my cheeks, waves of fire painting my skin red under his stare. I looked away from him awkwardly, not knowing what to say in response.
Edward wasn't looking at me when he said quietly, "I'm glad you're doing something that you enjoy."
I glanced over at him, embarrassed. "Yeah."
Tension began to crawl back over us, inevitable and sure. We avoided each other's eyes and I struggled to find something more to say. I wanted to ask him about Carlisle, about why he loved horses so much, about why Edward was so afraid of them. I wanted to talk to him like it was simple, like we were friends, like everything could be easy between us. I wanted to thank him for being glad and taking an interest and sitting beside me.
I couldn't force the words out.
In the thick of the quiet, I grabbed at my half-eaten sandwich and shoved another large bite in my mouth. Without even thinking about it, I moaned quietly, the taste strong and nostalgic and reminding me of how hungry I was.
I felt Edward's eyes back on me, light and amused once more.
"Oh man," I groaned in appreciation. "I haven't had one of these in so long…"
"I haven't seen you eat one in years," Edward agreed.
"Not since I was pregnant, probably," I said without thinking.
My mouth snapped shut and my eyes immediately snapped to Edward, but he appeared un-phased by the comment.
"Sounds about right." He nodded. Then he smiled a little when he added, "I always thought that you were turning into a child instead of having one."
"My god, it felt like that!" I laughed, relief washing through me.
His face didn't seem angry or uncomfortable or sad. He looked like he was remembering.
I remembered, too.
I remembered ducking out of class to go eat samosas at the little Indian place down the street.
I remembered getting up in the middle of the night and shaking Edward awake, insisting that we go to the grocery store for hummus and watermelon.
I remembered calling him to grab some kind of take-out on the way home from work, sure that I would die if I didn't have it.
I remembered, most of all, waiting for Edward to get home.
The door would click open and I would hear the bags rustling in his arms. No matter where I was in his large apartment, I would hear it and I would come sprinting out, sliding and skidding in my socks as I barreled towards him.
Without looking at him, I would seize the bags out of his hands eagerly.
"Did you get it?" I asked him, throwing the food up on the counter and rummaging through the boxes desperately.
"Hello to you, too." I heard him reply with a smile in his voice as I opened boxes at random.
"Hi," I replied, my greeting clipped. "Did you get it?"
Edward's chuckle ruffled my hair, his arms wrapping gently around me from behind, his chest pressing against my back. His words rumbled against my skin as he assured me, "Of course I got it."
I pointed to each of the boxes in turn, mentally checking them off the list. "The dumplings and the Mu Shu and that chicken stuff…did you get that chicken stuff?" I asked him, horrified, as I resumed my search.
"I did," he told me, just as I was opening the last box. The smell hit me and I breathed a sigh of relief. I felt a light kiss on the side of my neck and his palm rest flatly against my stomach. "And just how many babies have you got in there?"
"Just one." I smiled and turned in his arms. His hands released me and moved to the counter as he leaned over me. "One very hungry baby who needs that chicken."
My voice was breathy and content and at his small smile, I reached up and placed my lips against his. His mouth was soft and moving against mine, his hand trailing up to cup my chin tenderly. I parted my lips and I felt his sharp gasp in my mouth, pressing into me a little harder.
My fingers trailed along his belt, teasing at his shirt slightly, making him shudder against me. My lips curled into a smile around his as I felt him reluctantly draw back.
"You taste like peanut butter," he commented when he pulled away, his voice raspy and a little breathless.
I shrugged, turning out of his hold and grabbing a plate so that I could begin piling the food out of the boxes. "I got hungry while I was waiting, so I made a sandwich."
"Peanut butter?" he asked with a laugh, moving away from me to gather food on his own plate.
"And jelly!" I added happily.
His eyebrows rose. "And now you want Chinese?" he hedged doubtfully.
"Yes. Why shouldn't I?" I asked him, genuinely curious. I lifted my heaping full plate and carried it over to the couch, mumbling under my breath, "I wonder how that chicken would taste with peanut butter…"
Edward laughed loudly and followed me over to the couch, sitting down beside me and handing me a pair of chopsticks. "You are, without a doubt, the most disgusting person I have ever met."
I opened my mouth to retort, but opted to fill it with Mu Shu instead. I could feel Edward's eyes on me the whole time, watching with fascination as I scarfed down my food quickly. When I was finished, I lifted my eyes to his with a satisfied grin and then glanced casually down at his food. He rolled his eyes and moved his dinner out of my reach, continuing to eat at a maddeningly slow pace.
When he was finally done, he pulled my plate from my hands and brought our dishes over to the sink before he packed up the unfinished boxes of Chinese food and put them in the fridge. I opened my mouth to protest when I felt a strange, uncomfortable 'pop' from inside my stomach.
I gasped quietly and placed my hand over the alien movement as if to stifle it. I looked down, my eyes locked on my belly, and I could feel my entire face grow pale.
I wasn't surprised; it wasn't the first time I had felt it move.
Still, every time I felt it, felt the evidence of the small life growing inside me, felt the weight of what I was doing give a gentle nudge, I felt my heart skip a beat and my entire body tense with fear and trepidation.
"Are you okay?" I heard Edward's voice, soft in my ear as he slid back down beside me. His arm brushed against mine lightly, all warm and comfort.
"Fine," I muttered, unconvincingly.
Edward sighed, and I knew he wasn't fooled. His right arm snaked behind me, pulling me to his side tightly. His left arm stretched across my stomach, his fingers sliding around mine and easing them away, replacing my palm with his over the little nudges. When he felt the movement beneath my skin he dropped his head, gently kissing my shoulder.
"Are you ever scared?" I asked him, my voice quiet.
"No," he said confidently, his eyes lifting to mine. Then, as if it was the most simple explanation in the world, "I don't allow myself to be."
"I am," I admitted, my voice wavering. "All the time." I looked back at him, pleading and honest. "Sometimes I wonder if I've gone insane."
I saw a flicker of something in his eyes, his entire face growing solemn. His voice was gravel and hesitant when he asked with a swallow, "Are you regretting this?"
I looked at him for a beat.
"No," I told him, firmly.
I leaned over and pressed my lips to his once more, feeling him melt beneath me as he allowed himself to be reassured. When I pulled away, his eyes were soft on mine and when I leaned my head on his shoulder, I felt his chest heave a sigh.
We sat in pleasant silence for several moments.
"Do you think I should take…like…a class?" I asked him, suddenly.
I could feel Edward draw back slightly to look at me. "A class?"
I turned my head to look at him, resting my chin against his chest. "A birthing class," I explained, unsure. "You know, for breathing and stuff?"
Edward's brows furrowed. "Do you want to?"
I could tell he wasn't opposed to the idea, simply curious.
"I don't know," I shrugged, feeling stupid. "I just…I don't want to be a screamer."
Edward snorted lightly and I flushed in embarrassment, knowing he would tease me for my vanity, as he always did. Sensing my annoyance with him, he leaned over and pressed a kiss against my temple.
"You're not a screamer," he assured me. "You're more of a moaner…" Then he smiled and kissed my cheek. "And a talker…" Another kiss on my jaw. "And occasionally a shoulder-biter…" I could feel the grin on his lips when they skimmed a hot trail across my neck.
I pulled away from him, laughing.
"Shut up," I demanded playfully, elbowing him in the ribs.
"Ow."
I remembered everything about that night, and many others, with remarkable clarity, remarkable detail. They weren't memories I ever thought I would be able to recall, memories that I could summon to mind at will.
But when I was around him, I found myself wanting to remember what it was like, how it had been between us. I didn't know if I thought I could find answers in the past, find an explanation for what went so horribly wrong. I knew…I knew what had gone wrong. And yet everything playing before me felt so separate from my control.
Could I have changed anything?
My eyes fell on Edward – the Edward who was so different than that loving, laughing man – and wondered if he remembered that night, too.
He was smiling at me, his arm next to mine but not touching it.
I could feel, for the first time in a long time, the ache of the space between us. I couldn't touch him. He had been my friend and my lover, he was my husband, we had been married for years, we had made love countless times.
And I can't touch him.
Suddenly, I hated myself for it.
"Things weren't always bad between us, right?" I asked him all of a sudden, my voice quiet as I looked up at him from beneath lowered lashes.
His eyes snapped to mine, looking surprised at the question, at the broad depth it encompassed. I saw the surprise morph to fear and anger before his face washed clean of every hint of emotion. He opened and closed his mouth several times before he turned away from me, his brow set and unmoving.
After several minutes of excruciating silence, minutes where I never once turned away from him, he stood up abruptly.
Looking down at me, he cleared his throat and said, "I think I'm going to…"
He didn't finish his thought. He nodded to the side of the house we had been working on before he headed inside with his plate.
I sat on the porch, motionless, listening to him drop his plate into the sink with a clatter, as if he had lost his grip on it. I thought I heard a muffled curse from inside, but I didn't go to check on him. Instead, I looked out across the hills, feeling the warmth and the ache in my legs, waiting for him to come back out.
He walked past me without saying anything, heading over to the side of the house to resume his work without a backward glance.
I wasn't sure how long I sat out there on the porch, watching him. The rest of my sandwich remained untouched, a wave of frustration crashed up and lodged itself firmly in my chest.
The only thing more painful than watching him walk away from me, than watching him shut me out over and over again, was the knowledge that I had done this to myself. The reason I was still sitting on the steps, the reason I couldn't follow after him, the reason I couldn't demand answers could be settled nowhere but firmly on my shoulders. Maybe guilt or cowardice or pride rendered me immobile.
We could talk about everything except for what mattered.
Edward didn't look in my direction.
It must have been close to a half hour before I finally stood and brought my plate and glass inside. I threw the remainder of my sandwich in the trash and set my dishes down in the sink next to Edward's. I rinsed them off quickly, turning the water up as hot as it would go until it scorched my hands raw red.
I considered what Edward's reaction would be if I offered to go outside and help him now.
I remembered a pot of soup crashing against plaster, red streams running down the wall like blood.
I decided to make dinner instead.
I spent the next few hours grating cheese and slicing vegetables, scrounging around reading recipes for fresh salsa. Moments of ridiculous panic and discovery as I cobbled together the Mexican sauce, as gracefully as I made everything else. My ability to follow recipes without destroying the food, the kitchen, or my health had improved even while my confidence in my ability had not. Everything I made, I still approached with wide-eyed expectation of failure.
It was so much more satisfying when I got it right.
I had almost completely forgotten about Edward's presence outside until I heard the back door swing open and closed gently. I looked up from the soft tortillas I was pressing together, momentarily startled.
Edward walked in from the dimming light of the day, wiping a sweaty brow and meeting my eyes with a small, exhausted smile.
I glanced down at his ragged shirt, splattered with paint and torn from use. His hands were also filthy and raw as he wiped them on his jeans. I could smell sweat and work and heat coming off of him, which was distinctive but not unpleasant.
"How did the rest of the side go?" I asked him politely as he made his way over to me. I turned back to the food, trying my hardest not to look at him.
"Still a work in progress, but it's happening," Edward told me, staggering and satisfied. Then I felt his body close to mine, his hands on the counter as he leaned against it. "What is that smell?" he asked, his voice comically intense.
"Quesadillas," I shrugged, smiling a little.
Edward groaned softly. "It smells incredible, Bella."
I looked over at him when I heard his praise, surprised at how close he had gotten. When my eyes lifted to his, he shifted back slightly as if he was just realizing his own proximity as well. It was a small movement, but we were both aware of it.
I turned away from him again.
"They should be ready in twenty minutes or so," I said shortly. I smirked a little when I added with a sniff, "You should take a shower or something…"
"That's actually a fantastic idea," Edward replied, ignoring the dig.
He smiled and excused himself, heading out of the kitchen to the main stairs. I continued to cook as I heard the shower turn on. I set the table when I heard the water shut off. I took the quesadillas out of the oven as I heard light steps coming back down the stairs.
In what had seemed like seconds, Edward had returned looking clean and strangely fresh. His eyes sparked and eager when he saw that I was bringing the plate of quesadillas over to the table. He was wearing clean pants that were loose around his hips, a clean blue shirt, and his hair was damp, unbrushed, and shooting off in every direction imaginable.
He was that little boy again.
I couldn't help but smile when he pulled up his chair enthusiastically, all the tension from earlier had vanished once again. His eyes fell shut as he inhaled the smell of melted cheese, avocado, chicken, and peppers. When he opened them again, they dropped down to the bowl of fresh salsa I had managed to master eventually.
His mouth dropped open a little and I half expected him to start drooling.
I couldn't remember him ever liking Mexican food this much before.
"Here you go," I said, placing several of the quesdillas on the plate in front of him, before turning to head back to my seat.
"Thank you." Edward's voice was incredibly sincere.
I chuckled a little when I sat down, secretly flattered and proud. It was amazing how different it was to eat with him on these Saturdays, considering the way we had been only months ago. Meals in silence and bitterness, food turned sour by the discontent spread thick throughout the house. Everything was home and light and fine now.
I glanced up at Edward as I took my first bite of the baked crispy tortilla. I was expecting to find him piling food into his mouth by the handfuls or licking his plate clean. After all the work he had done today, it wouldn't have shocked me in the least.
My eyes widened a little in surprise when they fell on Edward's motionless form, tense and staring down at his plate with a strange expression on his face. Suddenly, his gaze shifted up to me. I saw him swallow a little, his eyes narrowing as if he was trying to puzzle something out.
"What?" I asked, placing the quesadilla back on the plate, flushing red as I was struck suddenly self-conscious. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
Edward allowed my question to linger in the air for a long time.
I could see him thinking, though. Considering what to say, puzzling and weighing and wondering. I wasn't sure I had ever seen him so uncomfortable. Any discomfort he had felt in our last few years together was always accompanied with anger or irritation. This was something else entirely.
He was deciding something. About me or about himself.
At last, he spoke. His voice was so quiet I found myself leaning forward a little.
"Things weren't always bad between us," I heard him say softly. He paused and looked away from me before he continued with a small sigh, "and they're not bad now."
I blinked back at him, staggered.
Edward shifted in his seat, fingers picking at his food with that same tension, and I could see the muscles in his arms tensing and relaxing, almost as if they were itching to snatch the words he had spoken out of the air and take them back.
My chest felt warm and I didn't want him to.
Finally, I forced a smile onto my face and the laugh that escaped my lips sounded genuine because it was. "You're just saying that because I made you dinner," I teased him lightly, wishing he would look at me.
At my words, he did.
Then he was grinning at me, accepting my offer. "It didn't hurt," he played.
After that, we spoke with complete ease and friendliness. He had answered the question I hadn't been ready to ask with a reply he hadn't been ready to give. But we pushed past it into our comfortable, false camaraderie that we didn't want and couldn't escape.
He told me a little about his work at the clinic, about some of the patients he had seen throughout the week, and about how he greatly preferred it to the work at the hospital. He told me names and cases, about co-workers and cafeteria food. He told me nothing about him, about anything resembling what he had confided that night on the living room couch.
We had arrived at the surface.
I told him a little about the horses and the work I did with Alice, about the satisfaction of the chores I was doing, and about slowly learning to ride. I told him about each one of the horses, recalling their personalities with a grin and finding myself laughing softly as I described Santana to him. He asked me if that was the large red horse he had seen me with, concerned that he would hurt me.
"I do not ride Santana," I scoffed, as if it should have been obvious. "I'm really not even close to that level."
"What do you mean?" Edward's brow furrowed, not understanding.
"Santana's more of a…challenge…than the other horses," I hedged with a shrug. "Right now I'm just working on not falling off of a perfectly behaved horse."
Edward's eyes narrowed. "He's dangerous?"
"Misunderstood," I corrected.
"Maybe you shouldn't get on him."
"Maybe I won't."
Edward was quiet then.
We spoke a little more after that, about our plans for the house and that if it rained next weekend like it was predicted to, we could work on painting the cold room. The air wasn't tense, but it had become suddenly subdued as the evening wore on. I cleared the table when conversation began to dwindle.
When I turned the water on to begin washing the dishes, I jumped in surprise as Edward walked up beside me to help. We worked side by side, never touching shoulders or brushing fingers, seeming unable to speak at such a close distance. I didn't pass dishes to him and he never handed one to me. We each washed and dried our own, separately, never crossing paths.
The tension that crackled between us was different.
When we were finished, I turned the water off with a sigh that almost sounded like a gasp. I backed away from the sink quickly, needing to occupy my hands and pretending to brush invisible crumbs off the kitchen table.
Edward dried his hands slowly on the dishtowel and I could feel his eyes on my back.
I heard his voice from behind me. "Mind if I crash in Rose's room tonight?"
I whipped around a little too quickly, eyebrows shooting up and my mouth open. Edward was avoiding my eyes carefully, his entire frame rigid, hands clenching behind him as they wrapped around the edge of the sink.
"Please," I said, a little too forcefully. "Make yourself…" I stopped, the words dying in my throat. Make yourself at home. Instead I finished, "comfortable."
Edward nodded with a small smile in thanks.
As he turned to head upstairs once more, he said, "Thanks for dinner, Bella."
"Thanks for lunch," I grinned.
"Anytime."
I watched his quiet form make its way out of the kitchen and around the corner. I heard soft footfalls as he ascended the staircase. I listened as a bedroom door creaked opened and clicked shut again.
The bedroom door that was next to mine.
