A/N: As always, thanks so much for your patience. People used to tell me it would take a few years to feel like myself again after having a baby. My problem (and I use the word problem loosely as I'm obnoxiously happy these days) is I still know who I am. The writer in me is going nuts! So many words and so little time. And just because I can't sit down and finish the stories I have going doesn't mean new ones haven't occurred to me. They're all in there, bashing into each other. BAH.

But anyway. Onward.


Edward hated lawyers.

No. He supposed that was unfair. Lawyers had kept his idotic ass out of prison as long as they could. When he, against their advice, pled guilty to his latest offense, they'd kept his sentence to a minimum. Charles Swan, like his parents, could afford the best. He trusted his team of pit vipers to keep Bella out of trouble in the long run.

It was the process he hated. His skin crawled with the memory of being the one where Bella was now—seated at the table, facing three grand inquisitors with her parents hovering nearby. It was different, of course. Bella hadn't done a damn thing to deserve being in the hot seat. For Edward, it had always meant owning up to every damn, dumbass thing he'd done and trying to explain it.

Explaining himself never worked. He hadn't understood until much later why he did the things he did. Lawyers—even his own—had a habit of making him feel small.

The fact Bella was innocent made him even angrier that she had to go through this. Lawyers were just never going to be pleasant people when you were the one being questioned. Their questions, all the things they thought they had to know, were always infuriating, embarrassing and way too personal.

"Did you have any sexual contact with Mr. Demetri Fontaine in the time you knew him?" Victoria Hunter, the head of Bella's legal team, asked.

Edward, sitting on Bella's right, squeezed her knee in support. She was hunched over her father's dining room table, her head in her hands. "No," she answered.

"Did you ever try to initiate sexual contact?"

"No."

"Did you come on to him? Act provocatively? Flirt? Pressure him at all?"

"No!" Bella raised her head and glared across the table.

Edward clenched his jaw, trying to keep his temper in check. Bella didn't need to calm him down on top of dealing with this bullshit. In his rational mind, he understood the lawyers knew what they were doing. They had the dual job of establishing a good defense and uncovering any detail the prosecution might bring up. They would ask several variations of the same question because cases were won and lost in nuance.

"Did you have sexual or other intimate contact with anyone other than Mr. Fontaine in the time you knew him?" James Damon, another member of the legal team, asked.

Bella sighed and closed her eyes. "No."

"Not even with Mr. Cullen?"

"No." This time it was Edward who answered, his eyes narrowed.

James looked at him with a cool expression. "And prior to meeting Mr. Fontaine?" he asked pointedly.

Edward stood up turning his back to the table. He walked a few steps away. What he had with Bella was the purest, most beautiful thing in his life. He didn't want any of them to sully it, to even know about it.

"They're trying to help," Renee said gently from where she sat on Bella's other side, offering the maternal support for once in her daughter's life.

"You don't have to be here," the senator said.

Edward swung around to stare him down. The senator stood against the wall on the other side of the room, the lawyer's side, his arms crossed. Edward squared his shoulders. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" He sat back down in his seat, knowing how much it irritated the other man. Charles thought he belonged to Bella's right, that he deserved to be the one to sit with her and comfort her through this ordeal. It bothered him to no end that his daughter preferred Edward.

He could stew in it, Edward thought and out a gentle hand to Bella's back.

"Actually, Mr. Cullen is on our interview list," the third and final member of the team, Laurent Boucher, said, addressing Charles. "Though we can always speak to him separately if you prefer."

"I don't prefer." Bella straightened in her chair. She lifted her chin and addressed Mr. Damon, answering his question. "We had a few intimate moments before." Her cheeks flamed, but her voice was steady, unashamed. "We decided on our own"—she glanced at her father—"not to pursue a relationship. I saw Edward many times after I met Mr. Fontaine, but as friends only."

The questioning went on for hours. The senator had an Italian feast delivered. Edward didn't miss that he'd ordered all of Bella's favorites. She picked apart a breadstick, but the majority of the food went cold as the night wore on.

By ten, Edward was considering putting his foot down. He doubted anyone had gotten any sleep the night before, least of all Bella. She looked exhausted and yet so determined to be grown-up, it broke his heart. The urge to gather her in his arms and carry her away from all this was getting to be too hard to ignore.

"Allright." For the first time, Ms. Hunter's expression gentled. "We have more than enough to get started. We'll go over everything and regroup with you tomorrow. Now, you should get some rest." She actually smiled at Bella. "Try not to worry. You have a strong case. Mr. Fontaine's claim makes little to no sense against much of the physical evidence. And with your father's evidence, this might not even make it to trial."

"My father's evidence?" Bella looked over to the senator.

The man's mustache twitched. "A full confession about my part in Demetri's deception. The proof to back up my story."

"You left a paper trail?" Bella raised an eyebrow.

"Of course not." Charles waved a hand. "The timeline of events can be proved, though. There are pictures of us in conversation at the event I spoke to him about you."

"The police foolishly made their arrest after being pressured by Fontaine's people," Mr. Damon said. "Based on superficial evidence of precedence. The fact you used to associate with people who went on to perpetuate crimes against gay persons is irrelevant. Your version of events of the assault on Mr. Fontaine the day you met is the only one that makes sense. Punching a man you just met because you suspected he was gay when he'd done everything in his power to appear straight doesn't quite add up."

"Mr. Fontaine has defense wounds on his hands and arms—an indication he'd been attacked," Mr. Boucher said, sweeping another stack of papers into his briefcase. "But the fingernail scraping they collected from your admittance to the hospital also shows how he got those scratch wounds on his arms. That coupled with the fact he was the one who placed so many phone calls to you that evening corroborates your version of events."

"He'll be the one in jail by the end of the week," Ms. Hunter said and smiled again.

As soon as the three were out of the room, the senator with them to show them out, Bella let out a huge breath and slumped over, resting her head against Edward's shoulder. He rubbed her back, squeezing her tightly.

"Jane, get me off this crazy thing," she whispered to him.

"The Jetsons? When the hell did you watch The Jetsons?"

She snorted, the air of her breath tickling his neck. "The what? It's from this old movie, So I Married an Axe Murderer."

"Old." Edward chuckled. "Come on. I'll get you out of here." He stood, bringing her up with him.

"I really think everything is going to be okay, sweetheart." Renee brought Bella into a hug as Edward collected their things. "And I'm here, okay? I know it's late, but I'm here now. Whatever you need."

"I get it, you know?" Bella clung to her mother. "I really do."

Renee pulled back and brushed Bella's hair out of her face. She smiled sadly. "I'm sorry that you had to get it." She kissed her forehead. "But we have time for all that. Later."

Edward offered his hand to Bella. She took it and, together, they headed for the door. Edward had to pull up short to avoid running right into Charles, who was headed back to the dining room with his usual, purposeful stride.

"Where are you going?" the senator demanded.

"Away," Bella said, releasing Edward's hand so she could wrap an arm around his waist, pressing against his side.

"Bella—"

"I don't want to talk to you right now, Dad."

"Isabella, listen—"

"No. God, can you not respect me and what I want even now? I don't have the energy for you. I'm tired. I want to go home."

"That's what I want to talk to you about." The senator raised his voice the slightest bit as Edward and Bella kept walking toward the door. "You can't go home."

Edward clenched his jaw and slowed just the slightest bit, determined to let Bella play this however she needed to.

She did stop, but she didn't turn. The senator sighed, the sound quiet. He cleared his throat. "There are reporters near your apartment. It's turned into quite a story."

Bella faced her father. "Yeah, they must be giddy. A homophobic Republican politican who turns out to be gay? Eh, been there, done that. A 'guess who actually attempted to murder who' story? Well, that's a plot twist. Finding out the distinguished democratic senator fed his daughter to the wolves on purpose? Wow. That's a fucking soap opera."

"Isabella," he chastised.

"I don't want to talk to you," she repeated. "Don't push me. I'm tired and I don't have anything nice to say to you right now."

"Talking to the press before you've talked with my PR guy isn't a good idea. "

Edward's temper flared, but before he could snap at the man, Bella swung around. "Really? That's what you're worried about right now? I should have known. I guess I should appreciate that you let me talk to the lawyers first before we could move on to what you think is the most important thing—your image. You don't care what I want. You just want to make sure I got my story straight for the press. I'm sure your image took a hit. It's time to go into damage control mode now, right?."

"That's not—" Charles pressed a palm to the center of his forehead, rubbing hard. "This situation doesn't need your dramatics."

"This situation wouldn't exist if not for your, goddamn dramatics. You're the biggest drama queen I know. You act like everything would fall apart if you weren't there to manipulate everyone into doing what you think is right. You've always made yourself into the ultimate victim. If only you had a better wife, a better daughter. If only Edward had stayed away. It's all melodramatic bullshit.

"And for what? You're so fucking oblivious to everything you've destroyed. My mother hurt you. My mother was flighty and erratic. Flighty, erratic, hurtful people don't make the best mothers. That's what you decided. And guess what? You were right to a point. Having a mother like her would have left its own mark, but what you never get is 'not perfect' isn't the same as bad. So I would have had a harebrained, slightly irresponsible mother. So the fuck what? I survived with a sanctimonious, judgmental father."

Both Renee and the senator's wife had come out into the entryway. They were, like him, quiet. Even Sue seemed to agree Bella deserved her words.

"You tried to keep me away from Leah's wedding because you thought I'd make a scene. It was destroyed anyway, because life is damned messy with or without your manipulations. And good things happen when you just let it be. Leah and I are starting to be friends because I went. I don't think you realize that. We text. We might actually be family one day even though you gave up on that whole plan when you realized I'd never be as good a daughter as your stepkids."

"Bella, I never—"

"And this? Whatever the hell you thought was going to happen? I could have died. I still could go to prison." Her voice broke. "Prison, Dad. For...ever."

Edward tightened his grip on her. "That's not going to happen," he and the senator said in tandem. Edward had to try hard not to return the other man's withering glare.

"Oh, god. Would you stop?" Bella sounded disgusted. "Are you fucking twelve? Stop glaring at my boyfriend."

Edward had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop from snickering.

"Whatever the hell you were worried about, Edward never did anything to you and your precious image," Bella said. "You did that all by yourself. You built your career on giving reformed criminals a second chance and then you act like Edward isn't worth the dirt on your shoes. In case you still think you're better than him, he's never hurt me."

"I'm a dumbass, not an asshole." Edward didn't hold back his smirk. It had been a Herculean effort not to punch the man, especially these last few days. He couldn't help but find a little satisfaction at the fact Charles looked like he'd been punched in the gut.

The senator's wife stepped forward, her hands out. "It's your image we're concerned about. That's why we wanted you to speak to the PR person. For you. I think all your father was trying to say was you won't find peace at your apartment. You're always welcome to stay with us."

"It's a big house," Charles said, toneless. "You don't have to see me. Anyone. You don't have to talk. It's safe here."

Bella huffed and looked down at her feet a beat before looking up at her father and stepmother. "Thanks, but no thanks. This house has never been a safe space for me."

There was so much pain in the silence that fell between them at those words. Edward rubbed Bella's back with a soft touch. "You can come home with me."

"You think the reporters don't know where you are?" Charles asked, but there was no bark to his words. He looked and sounded like a man defeated.

"We'll go to my parents," Edward said, searching Bella's eyes for a reaction. "Private drive. We can camp out in my old room as long as we need."

Relief flitted across her face, and she nodded. "Yeah. That would be great." She took his hand. "Let's go."

They drove in silence, hands clasped over the shifter. Edward rubbed a thumb over her knuckles when he could.

"I wish your parents were my parents." Bella spoke so softly Edward wasn't sure if he'd heard her right.

When he processed the words, he had to laugh. "You think what this whole dramatic interlude needs is overtones of incest?"

"I said I want your parents, not that I want to be your sister, dumbass." She snickered and then sighed. "Just… I don't even have to ask if you're sure they won't mind us crashing their night. I feel like if your mom knew I was sad, she'd make me soup or something."

"Carlisle makes the soup. Lentil is my favorite." A smile tugged at Edward's lips. "When I was a sullen, angry teenager, Esme would make me help her make bread. She loves making fancy breads. She'd talk and talk. I was so annoyed. It made for aggressively kneaded dough."

"That's good for bread."

"Exactly. And afterward, there was bread. Delicious bread that I made." He shook his head, turning onto the street where his parents lived. "I thought about becoming a baker. I probably should have. It helped… having something to do with my hands. It's methodical. Chemistry. But, of course, I had to prove myself… whatever the hell that was supposed to mean."

He tapped the steering wheel, considering the house he's grown up in as he pulled the car into the long drive. This house he'd never felt truly part of. "My parents are good with strays," he mused. "They offered it all to me on a platter—everything a good parent should be. They tried so hard to reach me on my level. I never could accept what they wanted to give me. I still find it hard."

If life was fair at all, they should have swapped, he considered as they got out of the car. She deserved parents like his, and his parents deserved to have a child like her.

Edward took Bella's hand, leading her into the house. It was quiet, mostly dark, but there was a light on in the entryway. The light from the kitchen was on too. "What are we…" Bella began as he headed in that direction, but as they came to the doorway, she exhaled with a gust. "Oh."

On the table was a small spread—meats, cheese, and other fixings for simple sandwiches. A plate piled high with cookies. And a metal carafe surrounded by sugar, honey, and an assortment of tea bags.

"You've belonged to my family since Alice brought you home," Edward said, ducking his head against her ear. "They'll be what you need if you let them."

Bella exhaled a shaky breath, her eyes glassy, and Edward guided her into the room.

Though the kitchen table was plenty roomy, they sat next to each other, knees touching. They sipped but didn't speak, and Edward hoped the tea was doing its job. There was something timeless and comforting about a cup of tea. Senator Swan's house was cold not in temperature but in atmosphere. The ice of desolation, loneliness, wrongness. Tea had the effect of warming cold, wounded hearts, and this house was full of love.

Edward had never felt like he belonged here, but Bella did. And if he belonged to her, maybe he could finally belong to this family too.

Bella only made it through a third of her sandwich before she stopped eating. She stared off, not really looking at anything as she sighed.

She'd run out. After everything she'd been through, she'd finally run out of energy. She didn't have to tell him. He knew that kind of weariness—when it was too much effort even to lift food to his lips.

He stood and stooped, pulling her into his arms. She turned her face into his neck. "Edward," she whispered against his skin, as though she might argue.

"Shhh," he soothed, and she didn't protest again. She wrapped her arms around his neck, eyes closed as he carried her up the stairs.

He set her on his bed. The walk had restored some small bit of energy in her. She used the toe of one foot to push her shoe down and wiggled her foot until it flew part way across the room. Edward watched her, bemused by the way she bit her bottom lip in concentration, determined to conquer her stubborn shoe.

What a gift it was, what an absolute pleasure, to know there was every chance he'd have years and the rest of his life to learn each of her little quirks.

They both shed what they needed for comfort and climbed under the blankets. He gathered her into his arms.

This, some voice whispered. Them.

They were that moment when seemingly random lines became a clear, perfect picture on an artist's canvas.

They were the perfect lyrics and music that flowed like blood through his veins.

The fact that he was meant for her and she for him was the first thing in his entire life that had eve rung absolutely true.

They'd deal with everything else as they were meant to. Together.


A/N: Send good writing vibes!