Disclaimer: Stephanie Meyer owns all.
Rated M for several reasons.
Chapter 36 The Fine Art of Communication
BPOV
"He is." Demetri grinds out, giving me the stink eye.
"I don't understand, why is he . . . ." Edward starts to ask.
"James Trevisano has a rap sheet a mile long, a history of violence against women and a well documented obsession with Bella. And since he's skipped bail no one's seen him in months, the NYPD still think he's a danger to her."
Wow, Demetri, don't sugar coat that shit . . . .
However, all our attention is on Edward, who is staring at me, his brows knit together in a stern line.
Ah.
"Thanks for the coffee Moira." He says without taking his eyes off me. "And the offer to cook dinner. Bella and I will be delighted to see you at six."
Moira ushers Demetri out as my cell starts to ring. I'm tempted to answer it since but the expression on Edward's face leads me to believe this would be a very bad idea. Instead I fish it out of my pocket and switch it off as I slide it onto the kitchen counter. A technological peace offering if you will.
"You're not supposed to be putting weight on that until we've seen the Doctor on Thursday." I drawl, indicating his foot resting on the floor.
"And you're not supposed to be wandering around alone and unprotected. Apparently."
"Touché." I grumble with a smile, attempting to lighten the mood.
Edward favours me with his 'I am not amused' look and my heart sinks.
"Moira brought me some trash bags and tape to cover my leg, I'm going to take a shower." He says heavily, hefting his crutches and thumping away.
"Want some help?"
"I'm fine."
"Fine?" I huff at his departing back. "Isn't that supposed to me my line?"
"Fine."
And the bathroom door closes behind him.
Okay then.
I switched off my cell because I thought you'd want to talk about it. But apparently you don't.
Fine.
I turn it back on, Felix has left a message, nothing that needs attending to right now. Which is a shame because work is always my number one distraction of choice, maybe quitting isn't such a great idea.
No, it's the best idea, I can find other things to do with my time . . . .
"Cullen-Hale's Whore Law, how may I direct your call?" Rose sing-songs.
"Boring morning?" I snicker.
"Cyggers, you have no idea. How goes the nursing? Has mopping his fevered brow led to the best sex of your life or are you running on batteries?"
"Ew."
"Are you blushing?" She sniggers.
"Will it make you happy if I say yes?"
"Some." She sighs. "Don't underestimate the ennui I am laboring under considering its only Tuesday, I should never have specialised in family law. If you're not taking a break from fucking Suaveward's brains out to what do I owe the pleasure of this call?"
"I'm not sure."
"Vague but intriguing, continue."
"Do you remember Trevisano?"
"Do I?" She growls. "Are you calling to tell me he's finally wearing an orange jumpsuit and breaking rocks?"
"Not exactly. He's been on the loose for a while . . . ."
"What?" She demands sharply.
"Well he skipped bail a few months ago and . . . ."
"Fuck! Tell me nothing has happened!"
"No, nothing like that, don't worry . . . ."
"Don't worry? Are you fucking nuts? The guy's a whack job, I've seen the stuff they've written on-line . . . ."
There's a muffled complaint in the background.
"Oh fuck off." Rose snarls. "We both know this sorry ass practice would be on its knees without me, wind your fat neck in and go water your fucking fern . . . ."
"Rose . . . ." I attempt before she rips her boss a new one and gets fired.
"Don't Rose me. Why the fuck are you only telling me now?"
"I'm not sure?" I hedge as the shower starts up across the apartment.
"Does Edward know? Because if he's known all this time and hasn't said anything I'm going to let Em kick what's left of his ass after I've done with it!"
"No. He didn't know either."
There's a long silence.
"Johnny Tightlips." She mutters. "Did you think to tell anybody this nugget of useful information?"
"Demetri knew and Steve at work, they have everything covered."
Another long silence.
"At least you're not totally stupid." She says eventually. "I should have known, what with Demetri following you around like a puppet on a string. I've spent years working out what's going on with you and whether or I should call you on it or wait for you to come to me. You're like the fucking Sphinx."
"Are you mad?" I ask in surprise.
"Yes, I think I am, though I'm still processing."
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you." I offer. "It just didn't seem necessary. I mean, he disappeared, Demetri and Steve sorted out extra security. And anyone who's anyone has a stalker, right?"
Silence.
"I am done processing." She announces quietly.
"Rose . . . ."
"I am so mad at you that I do not know where to start." Slow, clearly enunciated words. Rose's equivalent of a burning fuse. "So I am going to start with me. I feel terrible Bella. Terrible."
"Rose . . . ."
"Terrible." She repeats. "That you have been going through something like this and I have not been there to help you, support you. I know you. I know you act like nothing affects you and I know that it is all bullshit. But I let you get away with it because I know you. How little you like to talk about yourself. How you hate to burden anyone with your problems. And I should have been paying more attention."
"Rose . . . ."
"Can you imagine how foolish I would have looked crying over your grave without ever even knowing you were in danger?"
"I'm not in . . . ."
"Please. Demetri does not follow you around for the shits and giggles. Answer me something, honestly, were you ever scared?"
Ah, fuck, she's an awesome lawyer.
"Yes." I answer quietly. "Quite often in fact."
"And this is why I am mad at you. You should not be scared on your own. I should have known. We all should have known. So that we could all look out for you and support you. Even in the form we often prefer, of ripping the merciless piss out of you for being stalked by something as lame as radicchio."
I snigger and so does she, briefly.
"Do you understand why Bella?" She asks.
"Um?"
"I have a mind to make you say it out loud."
I can't, its presumptuous, it's . . . . wrong, and it might not even be true . . . .
"Because we love you Bella. All of us. And because we would be devastated. Devastated. If anything happened to you."
"Rose . . . ." I choke out as tears spring to my eyes.
"Shut up." She huffs, cutting me off.
The semi silent sniffing, both ends of the line, continues for a while.
"Now." She says abruptly. "That's not the only reason you called me. How did Edward take it?"
I smile through my tears, I fucking love Rose and I could never have asked for a better friend.
"I don't know. He's not talking to me."
This makes her laugh, at my expense I assume.
"Remember everything I've just said to you and the fact that so far in his life any time he's been in conflict with someone he loves its largely been resolved with Barbies melted under magnifying glasses or fisticuffs in the yard. He's as crap at this as you are."
"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"
"No." She snorts. "I'm still mad at you."
"I'm sorry."
"You'd better be. I now feel compelled to fly down with Ma and Pa Cullen at the weekend."
"Rose . . . ."
"Gotta go, bye!"
Click.
The shower shuts off.
Alright, he can melt my Barbie, but if he takes a swing at me he's going down . . . .
There's a muffled thump and some not remotely muffled cursing.
"Are you okay?" I shout as I butt up to the bathroom door and rattle the knob.
"I slipped over."
"The door is locked."
"Hang on a sec . . . ."
More cursing and another floor vibrating thump.
Silence.
"Edward!"
"Umph."
"Edward, open the fucking door or I'll break the god damn lock!"
"Wait, wait, just a sec. Ouch, shit!"
Click.
I push the door inward without thinking, clonking him squarely on the forehead.
"Fuck!" We both howl together.
"I slipped." He says as I crouch down beside him. "Twice."
"Are you hurt?" I demand, looking him over in all his naked glory.
"What do you think?" He groans.
"Keep still. Let me dry the floor before we try and get you up."
Jesus its like a bad sex comedy, my face and my hands have made it all over Edward's anatomy before I finally get him seated, laughing, on the toilet, with me kneeling between his legs.
"While you're down there . . . ." He laughs and I slap his exposed thigh. Hard enough to leave a perfect red outline of my itty bitty little palm.
"Here." I growl, shoving the only dry towel, a very small towel, at him. "Dry yourself off and I'll be back in a minute."
"Bella . . . ."
I wave my hand at him behind my back as I exit the bathroom in search of his pain meds. I want to laugh so badly, but it's inappropriate when we really need to talk . . . .
When I return with his pills he's scrubbing himself earnestly with the teeny tiny towel and the urge to laugh and I retreat to his dresser to fetch him some clean pjs. What's wrong with me?
There's a knock at the top of the stairs.
"Ms Swan?" A voice calls. "UPS. We have some boxes for you."
Some boxes? Exactly how much crap have Lauren and Felix sent me?
Edward thumps out of the bathroom, in his pjs thankfully, just as the FedEx man and his oppo finish stacking the last box in front of his formerly panoramic windows.
"Jesus Christ." He grumbles, collapsing on the couch. "It's like that fucking Simpson's episode with the cardboard castle!"
I scowl at him while I sign the 'paperwork' and the FedEx man departs, chuckling to himself.
"You invited me to stay, if you've changed your mind I'll quite happily fuck off back to New York and take my boxes with me."
It's his turn to scowl and since I've wasted more than enough time today already I fire up my laptop and hunch over it on the kitchen counter, emailing furiously . . . .
Approved, well done. Not approved, check your figures. Over my dead body. Go back and tell them I want a bigger discount. Fire her but speak to personnel first. I can do Tuesday but not Monday, they can take it or leave it. No, that's not a marketing campaign its commercial suicide, have them call me . . . .
I glance at the clock on Edward's state of the art stove, nearly noon, Cask is one hell of a distraction. I peek over the top of my laptop to see what he's doing . . . .
"Really?" I demand.
"I haven't been staring at you the whole time." He shrugs. "But I assumed you'd come up for air at some point."
I narrow my eyes at him. "I'm working."
"Good for you." He observes, pointedly going back to Pawn Stars.
It's a really weird feeling. Part of me wants to be snuggled up to him on the couch as the snow falls outside. The rest of me would quite like to beat him lightly about the head with my laptop. He was the one who said that talking was paramount, and what's he doing now? Sulking?
What is it with men and sulking? AT's on one as well. Though I've frankly got far less interest in pandering to him.
On my laptop is the world I've become comfortable with over a decade.
And across the apartment is an altogether new challenge.
Alright.
I set my out of office, pour two cups of coffee and stroll over, placing them on the coffee table.
"We need to talk." I inform him when I'm between him and the TV.
He leans round me to switch it off with the remote. "I'm ready when you are."
Instead of sitting next to him I sink down onto the rug opposite, crossing my legs and cradling my mug, studying him with narrowed eyes through the twisting steam.
I'm tempted to maintain my CEO persona for this conversation but this isn't a rival I need to get one over, this is Edward.
"Why are you upset that I didn't tell you about Trevisano?"
His jaw works silently for a moment and I wonder what his own internal monologue is like, does he really want to talk or is he wishing he had a magnifying glass? His emerald eyes roam over my face while he reaches a decision.
"It worries me." He confesses eventually. "How much you bottle up and keep to yourself. How little it turned out you were actually enjoying your job, your life in New York, Jake. How hard it's actually been for you with your Mom and Charlie."
"I'm okay." I shrug, because I am. I'm a coper, Charlie always said so.
"I worry about you." He continues as if I haven't spoken. "I know you're strong, stronger than me, but no one should have to cope with all that on their own, never mind with a career like yours. You probably think that's incredibly sexist of me but it isn't meant to be. My biggest problem, beside you, is working out whether to stay with William or branch out on my own and I don't have tens of thousands of people depending on the outcome of that decision, just me."
"I'm okay." I repeat, though I might not be if you remind me again that I made a promise, have a responsibility . . . .
"What use am I to you Bella? You're okay. What do you need me for, what can I offer you that you don't have, can't get on your own?"
"Edward . . . ."
"You said you loved me. Why? How? Because right now I don't get it . . . ."