A/N: Thanks so much for all your wonderful thoughts.
Keeping up the momentum here!
Most characters belong to S. Meyer. The rest belong to me. All mistakes are mine.
Chapter 30 - Slipping
Bella
Once they've discussed necessary schedules and logistics, the agents all huddle by the front door, where a hushed conversation ensues. So, I suppose all logistics haven't been worked out, only those I'm allowed to hear.
For once, with no eyes on me, I have the first unwitnessed and uninhibited view of Anthony slash Edward that I've had in a while – even if his back is to me. Taking advantage of the moment, I observe how his stiff shoulders rise and fall, slowly yet steadily. The apartment's overhead lights dance across the top of his hair, flashing like laser beams with his nods and head shakes. Every so often, he rakes a hand through his crown and interrupts the light show. The long breaths, the stiff shoulders, the periodic raking of the hair…they're the actions of someone who isn't entirely at ease. I wonder why? I wonder what he's saying, what part of my unsure future he's planning now.
Either way, the rhythm of his actions, along with the cadence of his murmuring, with the lack of natural light in the large space, and with the undeniably plush comfort of the sectional, all work to lull me. Abruptly, my eyelids feel leaden, and I struggle against the sudden drowsiness. However, based on the conversation that occurs around me in the ensuing few minutes, I either lose my battle and begin dreaming, or my level of awareness dwindles and wanes like the fading beacon in a fog of exhaustion.
"Emmett, don't wake her; let her rest."
"Ed, but I need to know what kind of food to pick up at the market for the next few days. She's gotta be starving by now."
"And it's time for her painkillers too, Edward. I want to make sure she takes them before I go and pick her up some clothes and necessities."
There's a pause, during which I vaguely weigh the pros and cons of opening my eyes and providing Emmett with my shopping list. I am hungry, but I'm also so damn comfortable curled into a ball on this sectional. Warm air bathes my face…breaths like the softest blanket before a real blanket envelops me.
"There you go," someone breathes, and now there are pillows at either end of me as well. Hunger takes a far back seat, and while Alice is also correct – my foot does ache – at this point, it's a dull ache overpowered by lethargy. All in all, despite my current situation, I haven't felt this relaxed, this reprieved from the realities of what's become my world, in ages.
"She's vegetarian. Get her plenty of fruits, vegetables, legumes-"
"Legumes? What the hell are legumes, Ed?"
"Em, you've got to know what legumes are."
"No, Alice. I have no clue what legumes are. Why don't you educate me?"
I hear Alice sigh. "Edward, you're not leaving yet, are you?"
"No, not yet. I've got a few hours before I've got to meet James and the rest."
"Okay, good. Then, Emmett, I'll just come with you to the market to make sure you don't return with lard and a slab of bacon."
"Ooh, bacon! Now, bacon, I understand; bacon, I know."
"Yeah, bacon you know. But if I go with you, you're going to have to come with me to get the rest of the stuff."
"Deal, cuz you lost me with that legume business." Emmett chuckles quietly.
"Damn caveman. Alright, Edward, we should be back in a couple of hours or so. Does that work?"
"Uhm…yeah. Yeah, that works. Just leave the painkillers out, in case she wakes up in pain. And get her a few prepared food items too, in case she wakes up hungry. And…get her warm and comfortable clothes and shoes."
"I know what to get her, Edward, definitely even beyond what your male brain can think of. Alright, we'll be back in a few."
"See you in a few. Stay alert out there."
"Please. This isn't my first rodeo."
OOOOO
Perhaps, at that point, I do fall asleep. Maybe I was dreaming all along. Either way, at some point, my eyes pop open, and for a brief moment, I forget where I am and why. Snug and rested, I stretch myself out like a cat and purr like a kitten. Then, I sit up.
Anth-
Damn it, Bella, there is no Anthony. That's Edward. EDWARD.
Edward sits on a chair across from me. He's leaned against the backrest as if despite his proximity, he's trying to maintain distance. His long legs are crossed, his hands resting and gripping the chair's armrests…and his green gaze is firmly on me. In the dimmed lights, his eyes blaze with an intensity that makes it hard to breathe, much less speak.
"What are you doing?" I finally manage to ask.
For what feels like an eternity, he remains entirely still, not a muscle in his entire frame twitches while the hunger in his gaze continues. His eyes almost glow in the faint light. Then, he offers me a slow head shake before the fire in his gaze steadily leeches, dissipates, and his entire frame seems to loosen. Meanwhile, I release the breath I was surreptitiously holding in.
"My job." He sighs. "Just my job. Alice and Emmett left a short while ago to pick up some supplies. They should be back soon."
"Okay."
"Isabella…how are you feeling?"
"A bit better," I say honestly.
He nods. "Are you in pain? Alice left your medication-"
"Maybe later. The meds make me drowsy, and I don't like being drowsy."
"I know you don't," he murmurs softly. Then, clearing his throat, he sits up straight. "Are you hungry? I don't usually keep much food here, but I can probably-"
"No, that's fine. Actually, what I can really use is a restroom."
He sucks his teeth. "Damn it. Of course. Come on; I'll show you to your room and bathroom."
When I try to stand, I realize that although the nap has left me rested, it's also tightened my muscles. As I balance my weight on both feet, my injured foot protests and quickly gives. I land on my behind, luckily with the sectional under it, but nonetheless, in the next second, Edward is at my side. He reaches for me, and I wave away his hand.
"Bell- Isabella, come on. Let me help you."
"No. I'm fine."
"Isabella-"
"I said I'm fine, Agent Cullen." Squeezing my eyes shut for a second, I try again, modulating my tone per our agreement. "Thank you, but I can stand and walk on my own."
Still, he hovers, his hands twitching at his sides. However, the last thing I need is for Agent Cullen to see me as weak, especially after the breakdown I had post-statement. So, with my gaze firmly on my feet, I plant my good foot on the floor and balance all my weight on it as I make to stand. Then slowly, I redistribute my weight between both feet and limp off, suppressing every urge to grimace or whimper.
All the while, the heat of Agent Cullen's proximity dances like a flame between us. It licks at my skin, binds itself to me like a fiery magnet pulling and drawing recent memories back to the forefront – the warmth of his arms, the strength of his chest…the heat of his mouth.
How the hell am I supposed to walk a straight line with the distraction of him beside me, much less survive the next few days?
Somehow, I manage to limp my way into the wide hallway without faceplanting as he keeps pace beside me until we reach a door. There, he hesitantly pulls forward just enough so that he can open it.
"Just through here," he directs, and when he pushes open the door, I'm physically and viscerally assaulted – by the scent of him, the clean, unique, and way-too-recognizable-to-me scent of him.
It emanates from the room – his bedroom – in waves, from the neatly-made, king-sized bed in the center of the room, from the dresser on the other side, from the soft-white walls. It wafts in the air, floats fresh and natural off of him beside me, and yes, it still carries in my recent memories.
"Are you okay?"
"Yes, I'm fine." I sound irritated again; I can hear it, but it's so easy for me to be overpowered by him, and he doesn't even have to touch me. It's infuriating…and thrilling.
His brow furrows. "Through there is the bathroom."
"Isn't there a main bathroom?" I ask as I slowly limp away from him. "I don't need to use the master."
"Yes, but…" he scrubs the nape of his neck, "with your injuries, I thought it might make more sense for you to take this bedroom since it has its own bathroom."
Stopping mid-room, I quirk a brow. "That's not necessary."
His ensuing sigh holds a hint of his own growing irritation. "Isabella, it'll minimize the amount of walking you have to do on that foot. No matter how much you deny it, I know it aches."
I purse my lips and swallow back the sharp retort on the tip of my tongue regarding how he doesn't know me half as fucking well as he thinks he does. Instead, I resume my uneven stride as I visually inspect his room.
"And where would you sleep then if I took your bedroom? What exactly are the sleeping arrangements?" I grin sardonically while my fingertips trail across the neat top of his dresser.
"You'll take this room, Alice will take the spare room, and Emmett and I will figure ourselves out in the living-room."
It's…generous of him. Nonetheless, I reply with finality.
"You don't need to give me your bedroom."
"I know I don't need to," he grits, "but like I said, it'll minimize the amount of walking you'll need to do on that injured foot."
"If it's just for a few nights, I'll be fine on the sectional."
"Isabella," he sighs, "does everything need to be a war of wills between us?"
My hackles rise, as they so easily do with him. "I don't know, Agent Cullen, you tell me, since I'm not the one who's making a big deal out of this."
"No, not you," he retorts with no little sarcasm. "You don't fight me on everything."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean, that I shouldn't argue with you on anything, as if you're some sort of know-it-all who should never be questioned?"
"That's not what I'm saying at all. All I'm saying is that-"
"What are you saying, Agent- whoa." I stop short.
"Bella, are you okay? What is it?"
He rushes to my side, but for once, his proximity isn't at the forefront of my thoughts. The master bathroom within his large master bedroom is a pristine paradise, complete with white, subway-tiled walls and black marble floors, but what makes it perfect is in the middle of it all: a white, cast-iron clawfoot tub. The tub's brushed nickel claw-shaped-feet match the long and simple curved faucet – and all of it is something straight out of an exhausted thief's dream.
"Ohhh..." I expel a long breath at the sight, already imagining the loosening of my currently tight muscles as I soak in that tub.
He leans into my ear, and although yes, the action raises goosebumps along my nape, like I said, at the moment, he's been surpassed by a tub.
"Changed your mind?"
"Does the main bathroom have a tub like this?"
"Not at all. But it does have a nice stand-up shower you're welcome to use."
"I've changed my mind."
"I thought so." His tone is smug, but verbally sparring with him right now isn't my main concern.
"Would you mind giving me some privacy? I'd like to take a bath."
"Sure," he replies easily for once, "but wait for Alice to return so that she can help you-"
My eyes flash. "I don't need help bathing."
He draws in a deep breath and exhales loudly. "Here we go again. I just meant that maybe you should wait so that she can help you in and out. It's a high-ledged tub-"
"When have I ever needed help with high ledges?"
"With your injured-"
"Where are the towels?" I ask, cutting him off.
His lips form a tight line, nostrils flaring as he glares at me, and I glare back defiantly because it'll take an act of God to keep me from that tub right now.
"On the shelf behind the door," he replies tightly. "There's a robe you can use there as well."
I nod once. "Okay, thanks."
He shakes his head. "You're so damn stubborn."
I wiggle my fingers and wave at him in dismissal. Still, he glowers long and hard for a few seconds. When he leans in suddenly, my breath catches in my throat.
"Be. Careful," he demands through an almost locked jaw. "Don't forget you're hurt."
Though I reply mockingly, my heart races. "I'm aware. I was there when it happened, remember?"
That wounded expression darkens his features again. "Yes. Yes, I remember."
Still shaking his head, he turns and walks out of the bathroom, fisting his hair. Shutting the door behind him, I lean heavily against the door frame as I wait for my heart to return to its normal rhythm.
Jesus Christ, who planned this cosmic joke?
OOOOO
"As if I don't know how to give myself a bath with an injured foot."
I mutter to myself as I peel off my government-issued clothing. Pulling off my sweatshirt and unclasping my bra, I breathe a sigh of relief as I fling both items off to the side. Discarding my bottoms turns out to be a bit trickier. I've got to balance myself on my good foot, which is no big deal, but then to keep weight off my injured foot, I end up sitting on the shut toilet cover to pull everything off.
"It's not the first time I hurt my foot," I continue mumbling as I make my way to the tub. The faucet is self-explanatory – pull for water pressure, then turn to the left to make it hotter or to the right to make it colder. I turn the knob way left.
"I know how to take care of myself, Agent Cullen," I whisper indignantly.
Nonetheless, a tiny voice inside me reminds me that…the last time I hurt my foot anywhere near this bad, I was fourteen, and I had my mom to help with everything I'm doing now. I'd forgotten how difficult it can be to climb into a tub with a soft cast you can't get wet. Tying my hair up onto my crown with a hair-tie Alice gave me earlier, I sit on the tub's ledge as it fills, and I plan my entry. Then, I end up half-sliding, half-falling into the tub. Water splashes around me and onto the pristine, marble floors, creating puddles. In the back of my mind, I note that I am kind of making a mess of Agent Cullen's apartment despite my earlier indignation at his concern. I'll have to clean up afterward.
Still, I've managed to make into the tub while keeping the cast dry, and that's all that matters right now. Drawing in a breath, I settle back in the steamy water, leaving my foot hanging off the ledge while the rest of me submerges. As I shut my eyes and allow the heat to massage every inch of my body, I begin to think that perhaps, this short stay in Agent Cullen's apartment may not be so bad after all. As long as I can avoid the apartment's owner as much as possible, I should be okay. For a few minutes, my mind drifts peacefully, settles on absolutely nothing…and on no one…
That is until I find myself once again wondering how differently this entire scenario might have played out had Anthony slash Edward – and I – made different decisions a few nights ago.
In my mind's eye, it's not me laying back against the cast iron tub, but him. He looks…the opposite of uneasy or guilty as he gazes at me through fervently green eyes. His strong, bare chest is the only part of him not submerged under bubbling water as he grins and curls a finger in invitation. There's no injury to my foot or to any other part of me as obey easily, with no sort of hesitation or doubt or fight, and I mount the tub's high ledge. He chuckles and wraps me in his arms, his fingertips grazing my spine as he whispers my name over and over – not "Isabella," but "Bella." And when water splashes over the tub's rim, it's not because I've fallen in, it's because when I take Anthony deep inside me-
With a sharp gasp, I sit up, pop open my eyes, and fist my hair.
Fuck.
"Get a grip, Bella. Get a grip. You cannot allow your mind to go there. He's not Anthony. Just…get a…grip."
I expel a series of deep breaths, attempting to calm my racing heart…and other parts of me that have gotten carried away with my imagination. I can't allow myself to think those sort of thoughts ever again – especially not while I'm under his roof, in his tub, preparing to sleep in his bed…
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," I choke quietly, squeezing my eyes shut and pulling my hair. All the Zen from a few minutes earlier has now been obliterated. After a few moments, accepting the fact that the reprieve is over, I begin planning how I'll climb out of the tub.
It only takes about half a minute to realize that maybe I haven't thought this through completely. Half-sliding, half-falling in was one thing, but after a handful of attempts to exit the tub without using my injured foot, I end up back on my ass each time. On my latest attempt, I curl my injured foot around the outside ledge, biting my tongue against the pain as I use the foot as a sort of pulley with which to heft up the rest of my body. My good foot follows, and as I grab each side of the ledge with my arms, lifting my weight, I've got just enough time for a misplaced smile of triumph before my arms slip off the slippery ledge, and I fall back again, splashing into the water, submerging head to foot. Luckily, I keep my wits about me just enough to remember to keep the injured foot out, no matter what.
When my head breaks the water's surface, I hear the anxious knocking.
"Isabella, is everything okay?"
"Fuck," I hiss quietly.
Desperation forces me to grab the tub's ledge yet again despite the ache in my foot and my ribs. Curling both legs around the outer rim, and despite the ensuing pain, I bear my weight on both feet as I press them against the outer tub wall and manage to sit up on the rim.
"Yes!" I congratulate myself.
Another knock. "Isabella?"
"I'm fine!" I reply as I make to stand. "I'm- oh!"
My foot slips. Instinctively, I try to bear weight on the other, but the pain of it backs me off quick-fast, and I land on the marble floors with a massive thud.
"OUCH!"
"Bella!" Edward knocks furiously now. "Bella, are you okay?"
Groaning, I rub the elbow and the thigh on which I landed. Nonetheless, my foot absolutely throbs now, and I've got to keep it off the puddles surrounding me. But I'm naked, in an undeniably awkward and unfortunate position, and with no idea how to get up.
"Bella, do you need help?"
"NO!"
"Are you sure?"
"YES!"
I swallow hard and for once thank whoever or whatever is in charge of my life for the fact that I'm physically unable to cry – because otherwise, I'd be bawling my eyes out about now. I try to use my good foot to stand, but everything around me is soaked, and my foot slips and slides like a slippery eel.
"Ugh." I hang my head.
"All right, I'm coming in."
"Don't you fucking dare, or I swear to God I'll claw your eyes out!"
He slams a palm against the door. "Bella, come on! What's going on?"
Still hoping to find some way to salvage what little self-respect I'm holding on to, by the skin of my teeth, where it pertains to my dealings with Agent Edward Cullen, I scan the bathroom desperately. But I'm splayed out in the middle of the bathroom, naked and surrounded by nothing but puddles, with my injured foot throbbing like a motherfucker and forced to remain in mid-air to avoid the puddles.
"Avert your eyes when you come in! Don't you dare look!"
He's quiet for a second before the doorknob turns, and he pushes the door open. Walking backward, he clamps a hand over his eyes.
"Don't look!"
"I promise I won't."
"Don't!"
"I won't."
"I mean it when I say I'll claw your eyes out! Don't peek!"
He sighs. "Bella, I know you mean it, and I'm facing the door, and I've got my eyes covered. So, unless you suspect I've got eyes in the back of my head, there's no way I can peek."
"Just pass me the robe, please." My voice quivers.
He drops his hand.
"Stop!"
"Bella, I'm not looking your way. I'm just grabbing the robe."
He grabs the robe from the shelf behind the door. Then, re-clamping his hand over his eyes and with purposely exaggerated movements, he begins to turn, narrating every step he's taking as if he's speaking to a five-year-old.
"Okay. Now, I'm turning around, but I've got my eyes closed tightly and my hand over them, so I won't be able to see. I'll follow the sound of your voice, and then you tell me if I'm close or far."
"Okay. Just…be careful because the floor is wet."
"Okay." Again, he walks with exaggerated motions, but not as if to tease me, more as if he's…assuring me. He's in socks, and they soak through instantly.
"Now, stop, and without looking," I stress, "hand me the robe."
The hand with the robe reaches forward. "Here?"
"Move a bit closer."
He takes another step. "Here?"
I reach up and take the robe, pushing my arms through it as briskly as possible, but as I tie it around myself, it only takes me a moment to realize that while that's solved the issue of my nakedness, I still need help getting up.
"Got it on?"
"Yes."
"Okay." He drops his hand from his eyes and opens them, looking right at me.
"Are you fucking- friggin" kidding me?" I yell incredulously. "Get out!"
Instead of bowing down to my fury, he crouches before me and gingerly rests my injured foot on his lap.
"What are you doing?" I demand.
"I'm examining your foot," he replies calmly as he gently moves it from side to side. "Does this hurt?"
"No! Now get out!"
"Bella," he huffs, "I'm a doctor."
"I thought you were an FBI agent?" I sneer.
"I'm…both," he replies with surprising patience. "Now, let me give your foot a quick examination to make sure you haven't injured it further. And then I'll check the rest of your limbs to make sure you haven't hurt those. Okay?"
My face flames from equal parts mortification at my seeming helplessness around him, and…and because his simple touch sends my blood rushing.
"Okay?" he repeats.
"Okay," I nod.
He wiggles my foot, and satisfied there's no further injury, he takes my other foot in his hands and examines that one. Satisfied that I haven't broken it, he takes each arm one at a time and does the same.
"This feel okay?" he murmurs.
"Yes."
"And this?"
"Yes."
I watch him, trying desperately to ignore the heat growing between us, spreading into every extremity he touches, then settling in the lower pit of my stomach. His fingertips trail down the sleeves of my robe until they find my wrist, and he strokes it gently.
"And…this?"
My chest heaves as his thumb strokes my inner pulse, sending it racing. His eyes remain on my wrist as he speaks in a whisper.
"You didn't hurt your wrist, did you?"
"No," I breathe.
His long fingers leave my wrist and skim down to my fingers. Turning my hand over, he caresses my palm, and I shut my eyes.
"Did you hurt your hand?"
"No."
When I feel his fingertips on my cheek, time becomes immeasurable.
"Did you hurt your face?"
"No…no…"
With a deep breath, I force my eyes open, and with a sad smile, he drops his hand.
"You'll be okay, but I told you to wait for Alice."
"And I told you I don't need Alice or you or anyone. Maybe if you had bath mats in here, I wouldn't have slipped. With all the action that tub has probably seen, you should have a bath mat down to make sure your guests don't slip."
His eyes harden. "For your information, that tub hasn't seen any action or had any guests other than you."
"Spare me the details. I neither want them nor need them."
"Then why would you even say that, Bella?"
My chest rises and falls, rises and falls.
"Come on, let me help you up," he finally says, his tone calm yet cool, lacking the warmth of just seconds earlier. With his jaw set tight, he puts a hand out to me, and when I take it, he pulls me up so quickly that I gasp and reach for his other hand to steady myself. When I meet his gaze, his eyes sparkle wickedly.
"Ass."
He chuckles now. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, but you've got to admit it's sort of funny."
"Hmph." I purse my lips. "I think I'll have to set down a few ground rules of my own while I'm here."
"Whatever makes you happier, Isabella."
But then, we simply stand there…unmoving…gazing…our hands still entwined…
"I really am sorry…about everything. I never meant for you to get hurt – in any way."
Once again, he looks so honest, so sincere that I'm unable to think, much less speak. His hands caress mine, and my body hums at his touch. And without stopping to think, I lift a hand and skim a finger just under his left eye, ghost the tip over the bruised skin there. He shuts his eyes and covers my hand with one of his own. There are other bruises on his face, and from what I've heard, Jake had something to do with them. But this one was me.
"I'm sorry too."
"I know," he chuckles, and this close, I feel his breath wash over me, the way it did when he covered me with a blanket when I fell asleep on his sectional.
Because that's the thing with Anthony…Edward.No matter how angry or frightened or confused or tired I am, when he touches me, the rest of the world melts away.
But twenty-four hours ago, I thought I knew what Anthony wanted from me. I thought I'd seen it clearly in his eyes. Now, though his eyes still look the same, everything else is different. Everything has changed. He's not Anthony; he's Special Agent Edward Cullen, and I'm the witness he's sworn to protect.
Until I'm no longer even that. Until I'm placed in a proper safe house, and I testify, and I disappear.
"Bella…"
"Bella?" Another voice calls out from somewhere else in the apartment.
"Bella, where are you? We've got food, clothes, and supplies!"
And just like that, it's as if some sort of spell has been broken. Both Edward and I blink and step back from one another, our hands dropping to our sides.
"Uhm.." Edward clears his throat. "Do you need any more help-"
"No, I've got it. Thanks. I'm okay now. Can you just please ask Alice to bring me some clothes to the bedroom?"
"Sure," he nods stoically. Our gazes remain locked on one another.
"Bella!"
Edward offers me a weak smile. "I'll just go tell her to come meet you."
"Okay."
"Just be careful and don't slip again."
"I won't."
"Okay." With a long and deep breath, Edward turns and walks out of the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.
Again, I lean against the door frame, and again, I draw in a deep breath and try to regulate my breathing.
Over the past few years, I've survived a lot of things, and I think, overall, I've done pretty well, considering. The thing is, right now, in this makeshift safe house, I have no idea how I'm going to survive Agent Cullen.
A/N: Thoughts?
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