Posted 2021-05-10 & edited by the wonderful Eeyorefan12

Edward was pretty sure Bella was asleep—her breathing had settled into a soft regular rhythm—but Edward was very much not. He lay on the couch, arms folded behind his head, thinking, still trying to intuit the most effective incentives for the contracts he and Rosie were working on. Eyeing the desk, he contemplated opening up his laptop.

A sound in the hall made him stiffen. He listened more closely, discerning that it was a voice quietly murmuring. It was almost midnight. Who the hell was up at this point?

Palming his phone and keys, he padded to the door, twisting the handle silently and barely easing it open. Through the crack, he eyed the dim hallway where a large but recognizable figure leaned against the wall. Edward exhaled slowly, relieved. It was only Al, probably doing the last shift check before heading home.

"Sorry," Al said as Edward opened the door wider. The tall man held up his phone before pocketing it. "Julie. Plumbing issue."

Edward shook his head, smiling and closing the door softly behind him. With Bella slumbering soundly, he could safely stand outside for a few minutes. "No trouble. I wasn't asleep."

"Can't say I blame you, Soldier."

Edward lifted his eyebrows in acknowledgement. Al understood better than most.

"No problems with her though, right?"

"No, she's been fine. Pretty calm, all things considered."

Al chuckled, rubbing his hand over his face. "Yeah, I can't say I really expected this development."

"Fuck no." God, it still made him angry, thinking how easily it could have been avoided if—

"Do you want me to cover you for a bit?" Al asked. He lifted his chin towards the door. "So you can run and grab whatever you need from home?"

Edward paused, considering the offer. It would be good to collect a few things from his room, even just to stretch his legs on the stairs. Al's shift was almost over, though, and if his wife had called about a plumbing issue at home—

"Go on, man. You run fast." Al grinned at him. "I won't tell."

Edward chuckled. "You sure?"

Al answered by moving towards the room and opening the door, tilting his head in the direction of the family quarters.

"Thanks. Back in ten," Edward promised.

It felt amazing to stretch his legs and run, even just the short distance to the other side of the compound. He felt like a teenager again, sneaking quietly through his father's study and making his stealthy way up the stairs.

Everything was not as he'd left it, and he smiled and shook his head as he pawed through the very neatly folded laundry that sat on the foot of his equally tidy bed. He wouldn't be able to thank his mom until he finished managing this project, but he would most definitely do it. He'd have to do a bit more digging to find that rare variety of Camellia she'd been looking for. Yes, he decided. She'd like that.

With a few clothes, a resistance belt, and his hand weights tucked into a duffle bag, he hurried back to the other side of the building, lightly tapping on the door to let Al know he was back.

"Eight minutes. Nice work, Boss." Al grinned as he traded places with him.

"Thanks, man. I really appreciate it, but save the boss crap for my Dad."

Al patted Edward's bag in the dim hallway, hearing the clank of the weights. "That bad, huh?"

"You would know."

"I'll say. You should get some magnesium. It helps with sleeping when you can't run."

Right. Why hadn't he thought about that?

"I'll grab you some and leave it outside the door for you."

"You don't need to—"

"Believe me, if it buys me a few minutes before I have to go home and figure out what the fuck my kids have flushed down the toilet, I'll be happy."

Edward snorted. Al's kids were teenagers. He could only imagine. "Yeah, can't say I'd be looking forward to that either."

Al shook his head. "Just wait. You'll be bitching to me about it someday."

Fat chance.

"G'Night, Al, thanks again."

With a wave, the man headed down the hall.

Edward still didn't feel tired, and he wondered just how deep a sleeper Bella was. Deep enough to sleep through him doing some burpees? Too noisy. Maybe weights.

She mumbled something and rolled over in the bed.

Yeah, not happening.

He settled for a set of pushups on the carpeted floor and was finishing with a stretching routine when he heard a sound in the corridor. Assuming it was Al, returning with the magnesium, he hopped to his feet and went to the door, cracking it open.

A much smaller and un-Al-like figure startled at the movement.

"Signore?" Demetri's voice called out.

What the fuck was he doing here? Demetri and Felix bunked on the next floor down.

Edward said nothing. The only one who had anything to answer for was Demetri, and Edward was comfortable enough with silence to wait and see what the man's agitation made him say.

"Eh, mi scusi."

"For what?"

Demetri's eyes flicked back and forth between Edward and the hallway behind him.

He'd been up to something—spying, most likely. Edward's distrust of Aro's men was growing by the second. The Cullens kept information tightly compartmentalized. If Demetri thought he could find something by skulking around at night, he had a poor estimation of their security and, by extension, Edward's abilities.

Well, there was no harm in letting the man spy to his heart's content. Maybe he'd be so tired tomorrow that he'd fall asleep on the job. It would probably be an improvement in his performance. At least he couldn't fuck things up that way.

"Er, buona notte," Demetri said, swallowing anxiously.

Edward folded his arms and didn't reply, staring down the man as he retreated, imbuing his glare with all the don't-fuck-with-me warning he intended.

- 0 -

Edward's natural tendency had always been to mutter to himself when he studied, particularly when he was younger. His time in the military had taught him to stifle the habit. Bella had clearly not had the benefit of such experience but it didn't bother him. Instead, he found himself pleasantly distracted by her quiet self-talk as she did her schoolwork.

Bella's relief had been obvious when her belongings had arrived.

"Everything you need there?" he'd asked.

"Yes, thank you." She hadn't looked up, intent on digging through the box of heavy texts.

She hadn't asked for anything that might be of physical comfort. He'd expected someone so young to ask for some sort of personal item or token. A photograph. A blanket from home, even. Perhaps she didn't want to taint her things with the memory of this time. Or perhaps she didn't need them.

Jasper's assessment of her identity was solid, but the mark of suspicion remained for Edward. Experience had conditioned him not to trust easily, and this girl was no exception. He'd wait until their contacts on the ground verified what his brother-in-law had found electronically.

"You're certain I'll be home for Saturday?" she asked, carrying three of the books over to the table and taking a seat.

He'd already told her they would have her home on Friday evening if everything checked out. "That's the plan. Why?"

Her gaze flicked towards him and then away again, her face tight with resentment. "I have work then."

She hadn't mentioned a job. In fact, she'd denied being employed. His hackles rose but he kept his tone dispassionate. No need to intimidate her—yet. "You told me you didn't work."

Bella shook her head. "It's not paid. I volunteer, and I don't want to let them down."

Yes, resentment. She was more than entitled to take exception to his infiltration of her life.

"Where and what?" he asked, pulling up her profile on his computer.

The stare she gave him was a hard one. "At a shelter."

"Where you . . . ?" he prompted.

He saw her shift in her seat. She was uncomfortable sharing this. "I do some very basic counselling."

He had to check himself, managing his reaction. He had a great deal of respect for people who offered these services, having seen so many soldiers in need of them. And yourself, he acknowledged reluctantly. Stop minimizing the help you received. Keeping his tone even, he asked, "The name of the shelter? Your supervisor there?" Practically, he needed to make sure her absence wasn't noted and allay any concerns that might arise from that quarter.

She gave him the information but then said quickly, "I'm not scheduled to be there until Saturday, and I'd appreciate them not knowing about my . . . 'vacation'."

"Why not?"

She clenched her jaw briefly before responding. "I told them I was taking time off to study for exams, and I was."

"And wandering around in dark alleys after a night out partying qualifies as studying?" Her lie and attempt to have him perpetuate it were disappointing. She really was just another entitled college kid. Sure, she volunteered, probably because it looked good on her resume.

"It wasn't like that," she said indignantly.

"Of course it wasn't," he said, studying the website he'd pulled up, not bothering to hide his skepticism.

"It wasn't," she insisted.

He shrugged, then watched as she straightened up and practically stomped towards him. He closed the laptop lid and stood quickly, towering over her. She stopped charging forward but stood her ground.

Her jaw was tight as she spoke, the words sounding off in clipped syllables. "You don't know me, Edward whoever-the-hell-you-are, kidnapper and thug, and you have about all the moral high-ground of a cockroach, so keep your snarky judgment to yourself."

He didn't know her? The idea was laughable.

He pulled his phone from his pocket, starting his recitation while he was still scrolling to her profile. He practically had it memorized by now, anyway. "Isabella Marie Swan, born September 13, 1987. Your parents are Charlie Swan, current chief of police in Forks, Washington, and Renée Dywer, a sometimes teacher, now living in Florida, remarried. Your parents divorced just before you were two. You lived with your mother in several different states before moving to live with your father in Washington. You won every single academic award your high school had to offer in your junior and senior years. You didn't play any sports, but you volunteered at the hospital and worked part-time at a sporting goods store."

When he looked up from his phone and caught her gaze, her eyes were wide with consternation. He kept talking, not needing his notes. "You only applied to Harvard on a lark—you told your MySpace friends you were surprised to be accepted. You dated one Jacob Black in your senior year of high school but he attended your prom with someone else. At Harvard, you lived in dorms for the first few years but managed to find a cheap apartment in the last year, leasing it from a friend of a friend who is away on a long-term exchange. You'll be homeless in just over a month, and you haven't found a new place to live yet which suggests you don't plan to stay in Boston."

He glanced down to confirm his numbers. "You have exactly $563.78 in your bank account, you owe $47,000.00 on your student loan, and you had a cat when you were in the 5th grade until your mother found it a new home through an ad in the local paper because your new apartment didn't accept pets." He challenged her with his stare. "Did I get anything wrong?"

She swallowed hard, but she didn't respond to his question. Instead, she repeated her claim, though her voice was subdued. "It wasn't like that."

"I'm sure you had good reason to be dressed up like you were going clubbing and not volunteering," he offered dryly.

"Screw you and your ignorant judgment!" Her outburst appeared to surprise her as much as it did him.

He grabbed her arm before she could turn away, more provoked than he wanted to admit. "I am not ignorant, but I will make judgments based on what I see in front of me. You can lie to yourself all you want, but don't expect me to buy into your fantasy. It doesn't matter to me if you ditch your responsibilities to go party, but what I think of you matters greatly. I thought I made that clear."

Her features were pinched in anger, her lips pressed together in a tight bud. She jerked her arm away from him. "I took one of the women I worked with at the shelter out to celebrate finishing her first week of work and finding a place to live."

He'd seen the receipt. While she had misplaced her wallet, the slip of paper had been in her purse. He'd assumed it was a club but made a rapid reassessment. It was an imprudent thing for her to do with her limited means.

But a generous thing, too. He had misjudged her.

"If they're connected to your social media, they'll see you're away," he said, trying to sound conciliatory.

She let out a breath, obviously of relief.

So they won't know, Edward concluded. He and Jasper could leave this one alone.

"Why does it matter to you," he asked, "that they think you've taken a vacation?" Her look told him she didn't want to answer, and he didn't need to know, but he found himself wanting to. "Why?" His voice pressed against the silence of the room.

"I think what the people at the shelter do is important. I don't want them to think I don't value it." She mumbled this while moving back to the foot of the bed and the rest of her textbooks.

They weren't so far apart in this, Edward determined. Both of them had their causes. He wondered what she would make of his if he could tell her.

Turning back to his work, he watched her settle less easily into her studies. She wasn't mumbling now but reading, eyebrows pinched together, hands tightly gripping her book.

Before it slipped his mind, Edward messaged Jasper, asking him to track down Bella's wallet. Having it go unclaimed wouldn't raise suspicion, but it would inconvenience her when she went home. It would be better to smooth things over where they could.

Another hour passed before there was a rap on the door. He stretched when he stood to answer it, finding Felix holding a medium-sized suitcase. Edward took the item without comment, rolling it into the room and towards Bella.

"You should find everything you need in here."

Her frown was a confused one. "I don't need that much," she mumbled.

"It secures your cover," he said, shrugging. Thinking of the report he'd been given on her apartment, it wasn't like she couldn't use a few more things. The place had been furnished but only because the owner had left it that way. Her closet had been all but bare. "You can donate it or throw it away later if you don't want to keep it."

He turned back to his computer, hearing her unzip the bag.

"Um," she said softly, "I think I got the wrong bag."

Edward very much doubted this. "Are things the wrong size?".

"No."

"Then it's the right bag." Focused on his message to Rosie about the contract incentives he'd come up with the night before, he was only giving Bella a fraction of his attention.

There was more silence, then the rustling of plastic and paper telling him she was looking through things. He heard a muffled, "Oh my God."

"What?" he asked impatiently, looking up.

She blushed furiously, giving the suitcase an accusing stare and then directing the same at him.

He walked over, wondering what had so obviously offended her, glancing down into the suitcase.

Ah, yes. He understood now.

Oh, Alice. Fucking hell.

"I see," he said, running a hand through his hair. "I think my instructions were . . . misunderstood." He closed the suitcase and zippered it shut. "I'll just . . . " He let the words trail off, pushing the suitcase back to the door and out into the hallway. He spotted Felix nearby, annoyed to see him still hanging around and wondering if he and Demetri were tag-teaming on whatever they were up to. He'd check the cameras later. "Return this to the office," he said. Clearly, he needed to send more precise instructions.

Then he texted Alice: Clothes for a woman on a *business* trip. Not the kind of business you were imagining.

Her reply was quick: Dang. Disappointing. I had real hopes for a while. Still a monk, huh?

He smiled despite himself. That was pretty much the case these days. Casual business attire. Conservative.

Did you not even check the underwear? she wrote back.

It was hard to get past the six inches of lingerie.

She offered a smiley face, along with: French lingerie, too. You said no VS, but it's from Bloomie's.

He decided the conversation was best ended here. Thank you, Alice.

Looking up at Bella, he wondered briefly if his face wasn't the red one this time. "Are you okay for tonight?"

"I'm fine," she said. "It's not like I'm going anywhere."

He sighed. Neither was he.

DISCLAIMER: S. Meyer owns Twilight. No copyright infringement intended.