Carlisle sets Edward and me up with therapists, even talking to my dad briefly for insurance details.

Edward's first session comes before mine, so I drive him to Port Angeles and sit in a coffee shop whilst he heads in.

Time stops, my knee nervously bouncing under the table as I hug my coffee close, watching people mill by.

I went back to school on Monday, it was … uneventful, mostly because Edward is still recovering and probably won't be back for another week or so. His hospital stay isn't common knowledge, and we plan to keep it that way.

Every day shows marked improvement in the way he walks and holds himself; something telling me the change in his stance and demeanour isn't only because his external injuries are healing.

The thought makes me smile.

I've noticed that a lot of the time, he thinks before he speaks now, his gaze flitting around the room as he mentally reels himself in, consciously making an effort to think his words through, testing them out in his mind before airing them.

We talk a lot more, not just about fruitless subjects, but on a deeper level too.

We're dealing … together. We're healing.

We ate dinner with Carlisle, Esme and Emmett last night. Apparently Edward hadn't joined them for dinner in years, choosing instead to heat his meal whenever he got hungry, eating alone in his room or in the kitchen in the dead of night.

I haven't been home, not to sleep anyway. That's my main hurdle.

Dad doesn't seem to care.

When I went home on Sunday to grab some clothes, money had been left behind for me. And a letter from my mom. I haven't opened it yet. I plan to do it tonight with Edward—if he needs the distraction after his therapy session.

Looking up, I smile wide as Edward crosses the street slowly, walking with a slight limp, favouring his right side.

"Hey," he greets, tentatively lowering himself into the chair across from me.

"Hi." I keep my expression light, slowly looking for signs that will clue me in on how he's feeling. "You want a coffee?" I ask, chuckling when he huffs, realising he's sat down and doesn't have a drink, a lot of effort wasted.

I take pity on him. "It's okay, I'll get it."

He tries to hide the pain, and succeeds a lot of the time, but I know lowering and raising himself from chairs is a struggle. I don't mind grabbing him a coffee every now and again. I've actually enjoyed playing nurse, secretly appreciating his body under the guise of doing my duty.

He smiles appreciatively when I place his coffee in front of him.

"So …" I start, waiting, prodding gently.

He shrugs and smiles softly, lifting his coffee to blow on it. "It was fine."

My eyes widen and I sit back in my chair, making myself more comfortable. "Yeah?"

Nodding, I watch him closely as he takes a sip of his drink. He's so thoughtful now.

"We started from the very beginning." His voice is hushed, but his eyes stay glued to mine. "I told her as much as I could remember about growing up. She just … listened."

"That's good. How do you feel now that you've started—now that you're actually talking." I can't help but chuckle, trying to keep the mood light, knowing that I'm the past, therapists have struggled to get him to say one word in sessions. He wasn't ready for it, so he closed himself off. Completely. And he always won, it always worked.

"I don't know," he answers truthfully. "I don't feel embarrassed or ashamed like I always thought I would. She didn't … judge me."

And there they are, the insecurities that have held him back his whole life. Reaching over, I grasp his hand tightly, watching as he processes the past couple of hours, working through it all.

He chuckles and shakes his head. "I can't believe we're here. After everything I did … I can't believe how lucky I am that you're still here, supporting me."

"There's a lot of people supporting you, Edward."

"I know." He sighs. "I see that now."

"And besides," I keep my voice playful, "you'll be returning the favour next week after my first session."

He laughs, wincing a little. "Oh no, the horror …"

And it's in that moment, sitting in that coffee shop, our tone remaining playful and light despite the subject and recent events, that I realise the importance of a support system. Neither of us have ever felt as though we've had one, or needed one, but … sharing the weight, the burden, together, and talking about it … that's what will get us through.

When we talk, when we're open, anything is possible and I smile wide—we both do—because we both realise it at the same time.

We've got this.

There will be highs, and crippling lows that threaten to take us right back to square one, but now we've got support and hope that we've never dared to dream of. We've got faith in us, in each other, and so much potential.

And more than that, we want it.

We want it all, together. And we'll get it, I know we will.

—-

A/N

ONE MORE CHAPTER TO GO!

I'll post it in a couple of hours, and then mark this 'little' fic complete *gasps*

Last chapter is a long one, because there's still a lot to tie-up.

Thanks for reading!