A/N: Thanks so much for all your wonderful thoughts. Here's a longer update to make up for the shorter updates of late. :)

Most characters belong to S. Meyer. The rest belong to me. All mistakes are mine as well.

ToH – Chapter 32: Rum Raisin

Edward

Afterward, we make plans to go out for dinner as a group – because it's business as usual. "We" have the best lawyers working for us; therefore, "we" can afford to go on with our lives without worrying too much about the upcoming trial or even about those "witnesses" the government might have ready to testify against "us." With all well in "our" world and our dinner plans set, the four of us disappear into our respective offices to take care of paperwork.

The few minutes of reprieve before I have to continue my act are a godsend. I need to renew and recharge my poker-face after the mentally draining and Herculean effort of sitting in James' office and allowing him to spew his garbage as if he and Kate were wronged victims. The numerous times I had to bite my tongue against the degrading terms Kate kept using in reference to Bella has left me with a swollen tongue. But the worst…the worst part of the ordeal in James' office was having to sit there and not only listen to his spoken desire for Bella for his nefarious reasons but to see the hunger, the craving for her still in his eyes – like a beast who wasn't quite done with its prey.

So, as I sit in my office and conduct busywork, my mind replays what I've learned this afternoon. Turning the info from side to side, I study its every angle like a geometric shape – right, acute, and obtuse, measuring them all, adding and summing them into coherent, methodical, and objective calculations.

"Tony, what are your thoughts, buddy?"

" …I think if we're careful, we've got a good case. I'm just a bit concerned about what kind of evidence the feds might actually have."

"Tony, Tony, Tony. Haven't you been paying attention? The feds have no real evidence because there is no real evidence…I've spoken at length to the attorneys and they've assured me that whatever the feds have can be repudiated in court. When you pay lawyers enough, there's very little they can't do."

"Good to know."

Does James suspect me or is he simply being his usual, arrogant, condescending self and enjoying having me look up to him, defer to his "superior" judgment?

"And the…supposed witnesses?"

"That might be a bit…tougher to work around. You know what I wish, Tony…I wish I knew where Maria…Isabella was right now."

"What good would that do at this point?"

"At this point? At this point, I want to…to talk to her, to find out how…when…anyway, it's probably not a good idea…and it's probably never going to happen, not easily anyhow."

"James, I'm sure that wherever she is, she's well-protected."

Even worse than the possibility of my cover being blown would be James having an inkling of where Bella might be. As I replay the conversation, I curse Director Haywood to the pits of hell for the perilous position in which he's placed Bella, for making it so easy for me to decide that the safest place for her right now…is with me.

Because it's not; Jesus, it's not – not when I've got James breathing down my neck, but what other choice do we have? My not walking the tightrope perfectly now has the potential to end in more than my downfall but in Bella's.

As I replay the part of the conversation with James that related to Bella, it becomes increasingly difficult to plan and calculate dispassionately, to keep the hatred and rage that's making the blood in my veins boil from rushing to my head and clouding all rational assessment.

Come on, Cullen, think. Does he know or even suspect? What was it that he said?

"Well-protected. Yeah, I suppose she is that. But you never know, Tony. You never know."

Squeezing my eyes shut, I focus all my remaining brain function on not submitting to the urge to invent an excuse, rush home, and ensure that Bella is okay, that she's safe.

No, he doesn't know nor does he suspect; instinct tells me so, but instinct also tells me that he's so paranoid right now that my doing something stupid would clue him in.

Neither does he realize that David and Alec are dead. Instead, he believes they've been turned by the feds and are being kept hidden somewhere, just like Bella. That, at least, works in our favor. Due to the criminal activities with which he's been involved for years, James' hold on trust has always been tenuous. At the moment, it's practically nil, and I'm not stupid enough to think he's not having everyone's background double and triple-checked. He's likely having us followed as well. Bella can't allow even one strand of her hair to show. At least, should anyone be checking, the story that my girlfriend, Elayna, will be living with me now will help explain why Alice will be coming in and out of my building for the foreseeable future.

All this is why, if James wants deference right now, I'll bow my head low. If he wants blind worship, I'll be his number one zealot. She is safe at the moment, and if I plan to keep her that way, then my job is to keep my head, literally and figuratively, and to remain analytical.

Exhaling deeply, I cradle my head in my hands and replay the scene again, searching for more I can extrapolate. When a knock interrupts my attempt at unemotional analysis, I sit up straight and draw in a deep breath, wiping any and all expression from my face.

"Yeah?"

Garrett pops his head in. As he offers me a sheepish smile, my eyes shoot up in relieved surprise. I was expecting it would be either James or even Kate.

"Tone, you got a moment?"

"Yeah. Sure, Garrett. Come in."

He shuffles in with his shoulders hunched, seemingly discomfited by his own interruption. Though he's also dressed immaculately this evening, the dark circles around his eyes have grown worse since this morning. His hair is disheveled, and what was this morning an acceptable amount of stubble is now beginning to look like the unkempt scruff of a shadow that's way past its five-o-clock expiration. He takes a seat across from me, pulling on the wrinkled pleats of his pants.

"How's it going, Garrett?"

"I'm good, I'm good." He waves away my inquiry with his usual diffidence. "But don't worry about me. The better question is how are you really doing, Tony?"

The concern in his tone reawakens that now ever-present sense of guilt in my gut, this one for the betrayal I perpetrated against Garrett's friendship – by sleeping with his girlfriend. But, for the foreseeable future, I can't dwell on all the ways that sleeping with Kate was a mistake.

Instead, I offer him a shrug. "I'm hanging in there."

"That's good." He shakes his head. "Boy, I still can't believe all this. Secret drug trials, murder charges, Maria turning out to be someone else entirely?" he says in disbelief, raking a hand through his messy hair. "It all reads like something out of a bad novel."

I snort. "I suppose it does, yeah."

"But why would Maria do this? I mean, Isabella," he corrects himself. "Why would she, as well as Alec and David, make up such outlandish stories? That's what I can't wrap my head around. I mean, I can see Alec cutting a deal with the government if he were really performing those secret trials and got caught." He puts a hand up, palm out. "I'm sorry to say so, but I can see that."

"You don't need to apologize to me, Garrett. It's no secret that Alec and I rarely see eye to eye." I ensure I keep all talk of Alec in the present tense.

Garrett chuckles half-heartedly, but then his eyes pan away. His thoughtful gaze sweeps the windows and the city behind me.

"But there were no illegal trials. There were no crimes. So, why would they…why would…Isabella Swan go through all the trouble of pretending she's someone else? Why would she become James' girlfriend, only to plant evidence against him - and against Kate," he adds, "evidence to make it seem as if James and Kate murdered her parents and tried to murder her as well? I mean, I know Kate wasn't pleasant to her," he says, dropping his voice as if he's concerned Kate will hear him, "but fabricating that sort of tale isn't something you do because someone wasn't nice to you."

He looks back at me as if awaiting either confirmation or rebuttal, and what I want to say is, 'No, Garrett, most sane people don't fabricate that sort of tale simply because someone was unpleasant to them. Therefore, what's most likely here is that Kate is a fucking liar and murderer, and Isabella's entire tale is most likely true.' Then, I want to sit back and see what Garrett says to that.

But, I have to tread carefully. When this case goes to trial, and my true identity is uncovered, we can't have any of the defendants or the witnesses on their behalf, of which Garrett is sure to be one, claiming that they were baited - led or pressured under false pretenses to lie or to incriminate themselves or anyone else. It's a fine line between what will be admissible and inadmissible evidence at this point.

Therefore, my reply to Garrett is much more benign than the one dancing on the tip of my tongue.

"I don't know, Garrett."

"But then why would that woman, Isabella, come up with such a life-and-death lie? And why would the government invent life-and-death charges?"

Garrett's troubled gaze pleads for answers.

"Garrett…Garrett, are you sure that Kate wouldn't…?"

I leave the rest hanging. It takes a handful of seconds before Garrett's eyes narrow in an understanding of what I'm asking. His every feature tightens with anxiety.

"Tony, I know Kate. Now she's no saint, and Lord knows she's not the easiest person to understand or to always get along with, but it's a long jump from there to illegal drug trials…to murder," he hisses, leaning in closer to my desk and shaking his head decisively. "No. No, there's no way. Not Kate."

I back off briskly. "You're right, you're right."

"I'd know, Tony."

"Of course. I know you would, Garrett. It was stupid- one of those nonsensical, split-second thoughts that fly into your head then just as quickly fly out." I tap my right temple with my right hand then my left temple with my left in illustration of the supposed flight of fancy.

"I'd know."

"I know you would, Garrett."

"With everything that's happened, it's natural to remember things wrong, for your mind to start playing tricks on you…"

Silence.

"Garrett, what does that-"

"It's natural for things you never gave a second thought to abruptly come back to you, to twist themselves into something dark and sinister, you know?"

His eyes flash uneasily between me and the window, almost as if he suddenly wishes he could fly through it. And I ask the question; I have to.

"Things like what, Garrett?"

His breaths have become long and labored. When he finally speaks again, words stuttered and hesitant, his gaze remains trained on the window past my shoulder.

"A few years back…a few years back, before you joined the practice, there was a week or so during which James behaved really…erratically – even more erratically than usual for him."

Taking advantage of the fact that his eyes aren't on me, I swallow back the eagerness increasing my saliva flow.

"Erratic how, Garrett?"

"Erratic like…hyper, like…like he'd gone for a week-long jog or something and was working off an adrenaline rush. I don't know." He rakes his hair again. "I don't really know how to describe it. At one point, I remember laughing at how downright jumpy he was and asking him what had him so animated."

"What did he say?" I ask after a long pause.

"He said…" – Garrett's voice quivers, while I wait, barely breathing – "he said that he'd recently taken care of a problem that had been plaguing him like a leech."

It's fortunate that outrage actually chokes off my throat. Otherwise, I might say something that'll blow this entire case or that'll keep Garrett's incautious memory from rushing forward.

"It was the choice of words, you know, 'plaguing him like a leech' that kind of stuck with me – like a leech, no pun intended," he quips and looks up at me with a nervous chuckle, unaware of how massively grave and humorless his recollection truly is. "It's stupid, I know," he shrugs. "He probably met a girl or something that weekend. Got his rocks off, as they say, right?"

I merely nod.

"It's just…the way he said it, the look in his eyes," Garrett muses. "You know the look, Tony. Like he's invincible. Like nothing and no one can ever stand in his way."

Again, I simply nod because yeah, I know the fucking look. "Did he say anything else?"

Garret frowns and looks away yet again. "I don't think so. Maybe something…about a keepsake from the weekend? I don't know. I don't know," he hisses in frustration, scrubbing a hand down his tired face. "I'm probably remembering it all wrong. Making things up in my head, with my imagination fueled by that over-the-top story. Even the timeline…"

My brow furrows. "What about the timeline, Garrett?"

He mumbles the next part so quietly, so timidly that I have to strain to hear, and even then, I only catch every few words.

"It was all…after a convention…Florida…he and Kate…presented…I stayed… stomach bug."

"Garrett? Garrett, what was that?"

His chair scrapes the floor as he jumps out of it. He breathes anxiously, gripping his hair, eyes wide and wild.

"Never mind, never mind. Forget everything I said. This entire situation has me crazy, imagining things, making things up in my head, and so concerned for Kate, you know? You understand, right?"

He's backtracking, apparently having gone too far for his own comfort. He's been spooked by ghosts of the past his own mind had dredged up, yet he isn't ready to confront them – not yet.

And who am I to judge him for ghosts of the past we're not ready to confront? What's more, I can't push him for more than he's willing to give.

"Of course. Of course, I understand."

He exhales a long, protracted breath through narrowed lips, visibly relieved by my acquiescence to his change of mind.

"Thanks, Tone, for being a good friend. James…he and I, we're buddies, of course, but he's…different, more closed off and…guarded."

He offers me a wistful sort of smile as we hold one another's gaze, and I see the anxious set of Garrett's jaw, the fear in his eyes for the woman he loves. When I stand and make my way around my desk, laying a hand on his shoulder, I hope it provides him some sort of comfort because, in a few months, his world will crumble. One way or another, regardless of any sense of guilt roiling in my gut, regardless of my own ghosts of the past, I'm going to make the woman he loves pay. And at that point, he'll know of all the ways I haven't been a good friend.

"I understand. Garrett…the truth will come out. It always does." It's the best I can offer.

With a deep breath, he nods and walks out.

OOOOO

"Alright. Hit me."

Hours later, after our dinner outing, as I shut the apartment door behind and with it shut out Doctor Anthony Masen and all he entails, I'm greeted by her voice as I make my way into the kitchen. Just before I reach it, I unbuckle my holster and deposit it and my gun on a side table out of view, though I keep on the one around my ankle.

It's late, and I'm exhausted, and I expected to find everyone asleep after such a long day. Instead, while the sound of her voice makes my heart jump, the words themselves bring on a frown. In the kitchen, I find Bella, as well as Emmett and Alice, gathered around the kitchen table, pizzas in one hand, playing cards in the other. They all look up at my entry.

"Hey, Ed!" Emmett greets me.

"Hi, Edward," Alice smiles.

"Hey," Bella says, her expression unreadable.

"Hey," I reply in return. Our gazed hold for perhaps a second too long before Bella's eyes return to her playing cards.

"Edward man, you missed a busy night," Emmett says. "We watched three of those vampire flicks. Can you believe Isabella had never seen them?"

"Sorry if I haven't had time for movies," she smirks.

"Either way, she's got a thing for the head vampire now," he grins. "And now, we're teaching her to play Poker, though I lost the coin toss so it's just a G-rated version." Alice and Bella swat his arms for that, while he chuckles.

"And tomorrow," Alice adds excitedly, "we're going to watch the other two movies in the saga. Wait 'til you see what happens, Bella. You'll never guess."

"I'll bet I can."

The three share chuckles and a few more back-and-forth quips, and I realize that they've come to know one another and apparently gotten along wonderfully in the hours I've been gone. All the while, I stand there, feeling like a stranger, like an interloper in my own apartment. Leaning against the wall, I cross my arms against my chest.

"So it seems it's going to be a party up in here for the next few days. Good to know some of us will be having fun, at least."

I regret the words as soon as they're out. They're born of exhaustion, fear, and irritation with everyone but the three people in this room. Alice and Emmett have managed to get Bella to laugh when all I've done is cause her pain. Yet, instead of being grateful, I'm jealous as hell. I'm envious of their time and ease with her. And I'm furious at myself because, in two minutes home, I've caused her pain yet again.

Their laughter and smiles stop, and all three pairs of eyes take me in with varying levels of shock and irritation. Bella is the first to set down her cards. She wipes her hands on a napkin, picks up her paper plate and cup, limps to the garbage, and deposits it all.

"Yeah, it's all fun and games, isn't it?" she says, walking away. "Agents, thanks for the pizza and entertainment. Now, I'm going to go exercise this foot a bit and then get ready for bed."

"Isabella, don't forget that you need to be careful with that foot," I say in an admittedly berating tone.

"Edward, they're exercises the physical therapist asked her to do," Alice says.

Bella stops. Her shoulders rise and fall, rise and fall, and I wait for her to turn and face me, to tell me off, curse me out, anything so that I may apologize.

"Good night. We can continue our fun and games tomorrow," she says, then makes her way to my bedroom.

"Edward…" Alice says once we hear the bedroom door shut.

"What the hell was that about?" Emmett asks.

For a long while, my eyes remain glued to the direction in which Bella disappeared. I draw in a deep breath and release it.

"It's been a long day, for all of us. Let's just…debrief and get to sleep."

OOOOOOOOOO

For the next couple of evenings, Bella stays away from me when I'm home. She vacates every room almost as soon as I enter it. The only words we exchange are those that are necessary. Yet even though we barely speak, I watch her in my periphery. She's restless. Her eyes trail to the windows and to the door wistfully.

Alice and Emmett continue taking turns during the day, but when I arrive home in the evenings, they're both there. And whatever the three are involved in - playing cards, watching movies, just talking - Bella stops, says a polite greeting, and then excuses herself for the evening.

On the third night, while Emmett snores on the pull-out, I sit across from him, still having a hard time sleeping while knowing Bella is just a couple of rooms away. My blood runs from cold to hot. I pull a tee-shirt on then remove it. When I admit that sleep will continue evading me, instead of wasting precious time tossing and turning, I make my way to the kitchen. There, I turn the lights to dim, serve myself some water, and sit at the table, reviewing Bella's case file yet again. I read and reread, search for anything I may have missed, and everything in between.

According to Bella's statement, Jacob and his father, Billy Black, had been expecting the Swans on the evening of their murders. When the Swans failed to show, Billy sent Jacob looking for them. It's a miracle Jacob found Bella, in the dark of night, laid out on a narrow strip of Everglades swamp, shot, bleeding, and unconscious.

I read everything over and over. I examine the polygraph, attempt to connect the dots because something is missing. It's something she left out, yes, but also something we're all not seeing…

"Is that my case file?"

My breath hitches and I instinctively shut the file as I look up.

Bella grins, standing in front of me in an oversized sleeping sweatshirt Alice bought her and a pair of gym shorts.

"It is, isn't it? Yet I'm the last person allowed to see it."

"It's…classified."

"Of course, it is." Her eyes flash to my bare chest before returning to me.

"I'm sorry, I thought everyone was sleeping or I would've worn-"

"Please don't apologize for making yourself comfortable in your own apartment."

She walks past me and to the fridge, her bracelet jingling as she opens the freezer drawer and bends down to reach in. With her back to me, I note that, along with the bruises on her face, the bruises on her shapely legs have begun to fade as well. There's so much strength in those legs. When she turns, I quickly force my gaze away from them and her backside just in time. She stands there, facing me, with a pint of ice-cream in her hands.

"I couldn't sleep, so I was going to eat some ice-cream."

"Isabella," I say softly as for some strange reason, relief courses through me, "I couldn't sleep either. Would you mind if I joined you and had some too?"

She hesitates for a split second but then offers me a half-smile. "Again, it's your apartment."

Instinct urges me to help her take a seat, but I know she won't appreciate it or accept it.

"Take a seat, and I'll get the bowls and spoons," I offer instead.

When I return from retrieving everything, she's seated at the table, with the ice-cream pint before her, and her gaze unapologetically on her closed file. She observes me as I take a seat across from her, slide the folder onto an empty chair, and divvy up the bowls and spoons. All the while, I'm hyper-aware of the position of her legs right across from mine. They're so close I feel the heat emanating off her skin, and I know that were I to properly stretch out my long legs rather than keep them close, I'd touch her. But, I won't.

When I meet her eyes, they jump away from my chest. The most beautiful blush creeps into her cheeks, spreading across her collar and disappearing underneath her sweatshirt.

"You can't blame a girl for curiosity."

I don't know if she's talking about curiosity regarding her file…or my chest.

"No, you can't," I breathe. "May I?" Grabbing the ice-cream scoop, I gesture toward the pint.

"Yes. Thank you."

We're both quiet as I serve us a couple of scoops each. Then, we wordlessly dig in, and though, for a few minutes, there's no conversation, the quiet between us isn't awkward. It's as if here, in this kitchen, in the dead of night, we can finally…finally return to some semblance of ourselves with one another.

"I recall…" I finally begin, staring at a raising on my spoon, "you mentioned once that Rum Raisin was your favorite ice-cream flavor."

"Did I mention that?" She blinks up at me in surprise but not necessarily doubt, I think.

"Yeah," I smile. "In that museum in Brooklyn. You said it was your mom's and your favorite flavor, and whenever either one of you was upset for whatever reason, a pint would invariably appear."

"Ahh," she grins, licking her spoon in a manner that shouldn't get to me as it does. "Yeah. I must've said it then."

Another moment of comfortable silence transpires.

"What had you up, Bella?"

She doesn't answer right away.

"I had…a bad dream…a nightmare…a recurring nightmare."

"What was the nightmare?" I ask when she doesn't elaborate.

"As I said, it's one of those recurring types of nightmares, always the same," she says, staring at her ice-cream. "But lately, it's changed a bit."

"Changed for the better…or for worse?"

"Worse," she says in barely a whisper. "Definitely worse."

"Dreams can't hurt you, Bella."

She snorts. "In…my mom's and my Uncle Billy's religion, dreams can definitely hurt you. They're more than just manifestations of your fears but actual warnings of what's to come unless you stop it."

"And how would you stop a nightmare from coming true?"

"By pushing away everyone in it so that no version of it can ever become reality. So, how is James?"

The change of topic startles me at first. On the heels of that surprise, it awakens the jealous bastard in me, though I know she cares nothing for him.

"Why do you care?" I ask coolly nonetheless.

It's inappropriately invasive, stupidly masochistic, and heartlessly insulting all wrapped into one loaded question, but like so many of my dealings with Bella, it's out there before I can think it through. Either way, she gives me no time to regret asking because she replies blandly and without hesitance.

"I only care in so far as I wonder how hard he'll try to find me."

Her statement knocks all air out of my lungs. Just like that, the jealousy evaporates.

"Isabella," I breathe, "you're safe here. As long as you don't try to leave, or peek through the windows-"

"That's not what I asked." She holds my gaze steadily, waiting, daring me to lie to her again. "You know, for all the truth that's been dragged out of me, it would be nice to have my questions answered truthfully, for once."

I offer her a stoic nod, and though, perhaps, technically, I shouldn't be sharing this information…I do. Though it makes no difference, I don't want to lie to her anymore.

"The truth is that he's curious about your whereabouts, yeah. And I get the sense that as much as he would love to get to you because of your testimony…" – she quirks a brow when I pause, daring me not to see the rest of the statement through – "he's having a hard time dealing with the fact that you're not Maria, that you're someone he never expected you to be. And that makes his craving to get to you all the more dangerous."

It's out there now, and though I've discussed this with Emmett, Alice, and Jasper, now Bella herself understands how much of a threat James remains. Which is why her reply shocks me.

"I know how he feels."

It takes me a few moments to reply. While I try to keep my breathing even, she holds me locked in her enigmatic gaze.

"What I meant," I finally say, "was that he appears to be stuck between the loathing he feels toward you now and whatever he felt for you before he found out who you were."

"Lust. That's what he felt for me, Agent Cullen – plain and simple lust. So now, for him, it's the burn of fury versus the burn of want, and it's a dangerous place to be stuck, yes. Because those flames burn hot, and someone's got to go down with them. The question is…" – a slow smile lifts one corner of her mouth while she simultaneously raises a brow – "will he keep burning for me, or will he try to burn me?" She sighs and sets down her spoon. "And who would've thought I'd ever actually empathize with James, of all people, enough to understand the current turmoil in his mind?"

"Damn it, Isabella-"

"Never mind. As they say in court, strike the record of all I've just said, Agent Cullen."

"Can you please stop calling me Agent Cullen?"

"Why?" She offers me a wry, humorless grin. "It's who you are, isn't it? I had a nightmare, and I suppose it's left me confused and saying things I shouldn't. Actually, strike the record of that as well."

"Jesus, Bella, I know a lot has changed, but you can say anything to me."

"Only if I want it on the official record," she retorts, jerking her chin toward the folder on the chair between us, playing with the charms on her bracelet.

"That's not true, and you know it."

"Do I?"

"Yes, you do," I insist. "You're furious at me, and you have every right to be, but if you look past that fury for a moment, for just a moment…"

She leans in, nostrils flaring with that fire of hers that simply scorches me.

"What will I find, Agent Cullen? That night when you met me at the museum, while we were there…while we were on that rooftop and I told you all about my parents and my mom and the damn rum-raisin ice-cream, while we argued in the street afterward…was that a private conversation?"

My mouth tightens into a straight line, but I'll give her the truth. From here on in, I'll give her the truth.

"It was part of the job, yes-"

She pushes back her chair, but I grab her hand across the table and pull her closer, reveling in the fire of her taupe gaze, in the heat of her furious breaths. She tries to push my hand off, but it's less than a half-hearted attempt, and we both know it. She digs thankfully short nails into my knuckles, so how am I supposed to let go? Besides, if she wanted me off, she would've woken the entire apartment complex by now.

"Let go!" she whisper-hisses anyway.

"It was part of the job, but Emmett and Alice already knew enough to do their best not to listen in. What does that tell you?" I challenge.

"It tells me you lied to me," she persists.

"Damn it, I had to lie to you, but even as I lied, I wanted to give you the truth."

"And I lied to you! We were on opposite sides-"

"No, we weren't-"

"-and now we're here, on the supposed same side, but the truth between us is worse than the lies. You must think I'm such a fool."

"I think you're one of the smartest women I've ever met."

"It was so obvious, wasn't it? The way you knew more than you should've, the way you were always one step ahead of me."

"I was always playing catch up with you," I correct. "It wasn't until the night you came to my apartment that we really began to piece things together. Even with what we did know, there was still so much we didn't. I had no idea that James shot you," I growl. "Or that Kate…"

I swallow hard, unable to finish. The tension between us grows exponentially. It's a thousand times worse than an elephant in the room; it's an impenetrable wall, and it reminds me why we can sit here and eat all the ice-cream in the world together, yet I'll never deserve her.

"It must be difficult to know someone you once cared about-"

"You think I ever cared about her?"

"I have no idea what you ever felt or currently feel about anyone."

I squeeze my eyes shut and release her, my throat stinging.

"What would make me less abhorrent," I chuckle humorlessly, reopening my eyes, "to allow you to believe I ever cared about Kate or to make it clear that I never did, that I only ever did what I did for information?"

"That's bullshit."

My head jerks back.

She offers me a glacial smile. "Remember our old friend, Lust?" When I'm unable to make a sound, she continues. "You wanted her, Edward, not simply for information. You wanted her."

"Bella-"

"You're still lying – if not to me, then to yourself. And I'm not judging you, Edward. I'm the last one to judge after what I did with James, but stop lying."

"Okay." Sucking in a sharp breath, I rush through the rest. And even as the words pour out, I feel the truth of them burn through me like a cleansing flame, the candor in facts I'm only just admitting to myself.

"Okay. Okay. At first, the assignment seemed so simple, Bella. Infiltrate the criminal ring and bring them down. It would take time, take me away from friends and family, but I was ready for it. I was…stoked. And the way they all took to me, Bella, the way they all fell for my act. Do you know what something like that does to your ego, especially when you're pretty egotistical to begin with?"

"I actually sort of do," she says quietly.

I shake my head. "So, time passed, and here I was, James' protégé, and man, did he enjoy bestowing his knowledge on me. He's…a brilliant doctor, madman scientist tendencies aside, and I actually found myself learning quite a bit from him. He's also the life of the party when we go out, enjoys being the center of attention and…he's got a decent sense of humor. And then there's Garrett, who's just a great guy all around. Fucking trusting to a fault, but when you need someone on your side, he's got your back. And then…Kate."

"Beautiful Kate," Bella breathes.

"Yeah."

"Intelligent Kate."

"Yeah. And at first, she was much like James, eager to take me under her wing. And as my involvement with all of them grew, as they placed more and more of their trust in me…I began to feel more a part of them. The more time I spent with them…the more I became Doctor Anthony Masen, and the less I was Edward Cullen. Don't get me wrong; I still knew my job, I never wavered from my ultimate duty, but as time passed, and I was in deeper and deeper, I'd come home and feel so fucking…confused, Bella, and so lonely after spending most of my waking hours pretending to be someone I wasn't, but then having to close the door to that identity every night – only to reclaim it every morning."

All the while, Bella holds my gaze steadily, perhaps even sympathetically, which gives me the courage I need to continue.

"I found I'd learned to…enjoy their company, not just pretend I did. Do you know how mortifying that was, how bewildering because what did that say about me, Bella, if I enjoyed hanging out with criminals, if I enjoyed James' respect and the fact that he valued me over Alec and even over Garrett? What did it mean when I…" I turn my gaze away from her, unable to hold it as I get to the crux of the entire confession, "I enjoyed Kate's flirtations, when I enjoyed the lifestyle and the money? Bella, I was no longer pretending to be Doctor Anthony Masen during the days…I was Doctor Anthony Masen during the days, and one night…one night, when we were all away at a convention, I got drunk, and I was Doctor Anthony Masen during the night as well, thinking it would be so easy to blame him or to blame Agent Cullen's need for information because none of them were really my friends, were they? It was all an act."

For what feels like an eternity, we're both quiet. When I finally force myself to look at Bella again, her gaze is no longer steady nor sympathetic. Her lips are pressed into a tight line, nostrils flaring, and it takes me a moment, but I figure out why.

"It wasn't like that with you if that's what you're thinking. You were never part of that confusion."

Her eyes flash darkly because yes, that's exactly what she's thinking.

"I'm not judging you, Anthony. I swear I'm not," she rushes out so quickly and furiously she doesn't realize she's called me Anthony again, but I realize it, I do, and God, does it spear me. "But just how you mixed business with pleasure with her, when you kissed me and you told me the things you told me, you were trying to get information from me for your case."

"Not for the case," I deny vehemently, leaning in close to her again. "Yes, I wanted to find out what was going on, but for you, because I needed to know you, and the more I did know you, the more I knew I had to get you out of there and damn the case!"

"Yet, here we are, and you've got the case practically in the bag, and soon, you'll have me out of your hair permanently. Case closed."

"Jesus," I say, sitting back heavily, my voice erupting in a strangled whisper. "How did I fuck this up so badly?"

"You didn't." She scrutinizes me through dark, dubious eyes. "It worked out well for everyone involved, including me. I get justice, my freedom, and a new identity to start my life over with. So, I suppose I should be grateful."

"Isabella, I don't give a shit about the case, not anymore; at least, not in the way I once did. I look at James and at Kate, and I don't want justice, I want vengeance," I seethe. "I want them to pay for hurting you, for taking your family, for giving you nightmares that leave you shaking, and for making it impossible for you to trust or shed one goddamned tear."

Her eyes widen.

"I'm not proud of it, but for the other victims, for them, I'd take justice. For you…" I scowl, shaking my head, "it's not enough. You look at me and you still see Anthony, and I can't blame you for that. But I'm not Anthony, and I'm sorry if I've messed things up so badly that you will never know that."

This time, it's my chair scraping the floor when I try to stand and escape the doubt and distrust in her eyes. But this time, it's me who's stopped from escaping when a strong…and warm hand wraps around mine and holds me in place. The truth is, just the ghost of a touch would've held me bound.

"Hey."

Nonetheless, I'm unable to muster the courage to meet her eyes, so damn terrified of what I'll find in their bottomless depths.

"Hey," she repeats. Now, her left hand grips my left hand, and she squeezes both of my hands tightly. With a deep breath, I peer up.

Her gaze is still anxious, still clouded by confusion and by the bewilderment of the past few days. But there's no doubt or distrust; at least, not right now.

"I don't see Anthony. Go rest, Edward," she stresses, with a heartwarming, soul-cleansing gentleness. "You have a long day tomorrow of pretending to be someone you are not."

A/N: Thoughts?

Facebook: Stories by PattyRose

Twitter: PattyRosa817

"See" you soon. :)