A/N: It's been a while. Thanks so much for reaching out. This will be updating more regularly until we're done.

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

Chapter 36 - Together

Edward and I race through the damp darkness. Somewhere up ahead, the river's roaring water prevails over the heavy sound of our labored breaths; to my ears, though, we might as well be thunder. Nighttime forest creatures hoot and howl, and along with a sliver of moonlight, their glowing eyes illuminate our path. Whether their lanternlike glow is meant to lend assistance or, like mercenaries concealed in camouflage, inform on our location, I have no clue.

It doesn't matter either way. None of the sounds or trails we leave or don't leave behind matter because it won't change anything. We can be stealth, or we can be our own worst enemies with feet pounding wet and slippery earth and stumbling on bracken. No matter what, branches will become serrated blades, and together with razor-edged shrubs, they'll scratch and nip at our exposed flesh.

My ribs throb. They slam unapologetically against my hips. Shooting pain spears my lungs. Terror and exhaustion mix and meld into a potent blend, a potion-like liquid of capitulation, of a ready, voluntary surrender to whatever fate has in store.

Tugging Edward's hand, I confess my thoughts in a series of panting breaths; only he's not having it.

"Like hell, you're giving up."

"Edward, I can't. I can't run anymore!"

"You have to!" he roars over the river's water.

Then he yanks me angrily – retribution for my display of weakness, I suppose – and half pulls, half drags me up the slanted rock's ledge. Beyond the cliff, I glare down at nebula, at unseen and concealed perils. Shards of vomit burst and rise like a tidal wave, threatening to spill over. I try to step back, attempt a retreat, but a solid, undaunted chest meets me.

"Take the jump, Bella."

I shake my head vehemently. "I can't!"

Like an owl's gaze, Edward's fiery eyes appear at my eye level. He cradles my jaw between two inflexible fingers.

"Damn it; you're stronger than this fear! Take the jump!"

"I can't!"

"Yes, you CAN! NOW, JUMP!"

"Only if you jump with me!"

He shakes his head, swallows hard. "You know I can't go with you. You've made every other jump without me, Bella. You can make this one without me as well."

For an eternal moment, my limbs remain frozen, rooted to the damp earth, literally petrified because he's no longer shouting, and that means…we've arrived at the end.

Sure enough, the man in the mask has us cornered. His blue eyes shine with a smug sort of triumph, their glow like that of the perched creatures sagely peering at us from their trees as if they too always knew it would come to this.

Edward, however, refuses to surrender me to fate. He shoves me behind him, persists in this quest to hide me from the gun – an impossible feat because it always manages to locate me. It did once locate me, and there's a part of me that knows that's why I'm here now, why I'll always be stuck reliving that cursed night for the rest of my existence.

Nonetheless, my heart races. The icy claw of fear curls its arctic fingers around my every fiber. And knowing what this is and how powerless I am against it, I wait for the bullet to rip through me so that I may finally wake from this debilitating nightmare.

Instead, the dream…and the gun deviate because neither one is any longer about me.

The gun points at Edward, and that…that is what makes this recurring nightmare increasingly horrifying; what causes fear to morph into unimaginable, mind-numbing, and exponentially indescribable terror, night after night.

"Jump, Bella!"

"He's here for you this time, Edward, not for me!"

My voice is shrill and hoarse, almost inaudible as the gun's barrel grows and expands into a tunnel – a black void that consumes the entire forest. Within this void, my screams make no sound. The trigger cocks…

"PLEASE, NO!" I shout, but the nebula swallows the words.

The gunshot, however, does resound – thunderously, deafeningly – scattering all the woodland creatures even though it no longer hits me.

OOOOO

"NO!"

"Shh. It's okay, Bella. You're dreaming, my love. Everything's okay. You're safe. Shh."

It takes a few moments for the disorienting fog of sleep to lift. All the while, the owner of the voice murmurs in my ear. He kisses the top of my head and skims his fingers gently through my scalp, down the length of my hair. His breath fans across my face and warms my neck. His arms secure me against his chest.

They're all actions meant to calm. Yet it's his heartbeat…his wonderfully strong and rhythmic heartbeat, that soothes me. It reassures me that I was once again ensnared in a nightmare and that he is safe.

Along with those realizations, I recall where I am – in my temporary safe house and in the bed of my sworn protector, a protector who in my worst dreams makes the ultimate sacrifice. With a long and fathomless breath, I pull back.

The lamplight from the nightstand casts a warm glow around Edward's frame, making him almost ethereal, angelic. He's still in his office slacks, although he's removed his shirt. My eyes stray, and I note the discarded button-down splayed across the back of the bedroom's armchair, along with a slew of papers and a manila folder strewn on the armchair's seat. Sweeping my gaze back to him, I take in his tousled hair. Then, my eyes meet his.

Gray-blue patches and the slight veins rimming his eyes more than hint at exhaustion. The deep, vertical line between his brows conveys his anxiousness. Nonetheless, it's the vibrant green irises expressing all his tenderness that works to eliminate my own remaining anxiety.

I brush a fingertip lightly under his left eye, then skim it to the right one. "You look tired. Why weren't you in bed?"

He holds my gaze steadily and silently for a heartbeat longer.

"Jesus, Bella," he snorts, his voice shaky. "You were already asleep when I got in, and I didn't want to wake you or assume you wanted me in…you're worried about me right now?" He shakes his head in apparent incredulity. "What do you dream, my love, that leaves you so petrified? I swear you're safe here."

"I know I'm safe here."

"Then what is it?"

It's a dream, a recurring night terror – one that's somehow managed to alter its ending since it first began after my parents' deaths. This new climax grows more horrifically palpable with every iteration as if it's a bullseye target moving closer, as if my fears lend it substance, nourish some inner bogeyman and nudge it further from the realm of the subconscious and nearer to a tangible reality.

Which is why I won't discuss it. Uncle Billy and my mom used to say nightmares were harbingers and that discussing nightmares fed them…as if they were indeed entities. The logical part of my mind sees the ridiculous, the superstition in such beliefs. But that part of me that's not one-hundred-percent sure won't take the chance, not with this. Not with Edward.

A long moment of silence stretches, and when Edward accepts I won't elaborate, he sighs and pulls me against him once more. In turn, I wrap my arms around his shoulders and rest my head in the crooks of his neck, reveling in our newfound intimacy.

"Stay here with me," I whisper, breathing him – his life, his vitality – in.

"Are you sure?" His murmured words tickle the fine hairs along my nape. "I can stay in the room with you until you fall asleep and just work for a bit from the chair."

Perhaps this newfound intimacy does require reassurance. At any moment, my official safe house will come through, and I'll be whisked away into Witness Protection. A new identity will be procured for me in some unknown, small hick town in the country's most obscure recesses. I'll be Mary Smith or Jane Doe living in Bumfuck, Nowhere. At the same time, Doctor Anthony Masen will reclaim his own identity as Special Agent Edward Cullen. Our volatile time together will be at an end.

Time is precious, and it's not on our side, and I'm done playing games of recrimination, regrets, mistakes, and hesitancy.

"Stay with me right here, all night, every night...for as long as we have."

He pulls back enough to meet my eyes. "Okay, Bella. Okay."

When he brushes his mouth softly against mine, our lips meet with featherlike strokes, with gentle pressure and reassurance that our need is reciprocated. We may not phrase it aloud in those three short words, but no doubt remains about what we feel.

So when he stands at the edge of the bed, there are no more questions about how much is enough or too much. He pops the button on his pants, unzips them, steps out from each leg, then climbs back onto the bed. When he gathers me into his arms, I lay my head on his bare chest and weave our fingers together, resting our entwined hands on his stomach. Edward pulls the blankets up to our shoulders with his free hand. Our bodies create both the most natural and the most electric heat in existence. It's as if we've been situating ourselves in this position for years. Yet somehow, like an old, experienced couple, the entire exercise has retained its natural wonder and reverence. The world beyond this bedroom, and all its overt dangers and insidious dreams, disappears. We are simply and blissfully Edward and Bella.

He plays with my hair, and I listen to the rhythmic beating of his heart, memorizing its staccato.

"What were you doing just now?"

"Reviewing the case file. Bella…" He fingers the charms on my bracelet, and I resist the urge to hold my breath, "what did you want to be? What were your plans, your dreams?"

While I think through my reply, I tug the fine wisps of silky blond hair on his chest, enjoying the stuttered hisses the action pulls from him, the rise and fall of my torso along with his.

"My dreams back then revolved around winning Olympic gold."

"You'd kick ass at the Olympics."

"Hell yeah, I would've."

We share a chuckle.

"Beyond that, I honestly hadn't thought far ahead. I was young, Edward, and I still dreamed the dreams of a naïve kid."

He's quiet. When I peer up, our eyes immediately lock and hold.

"I bet you always knew what you wanted – to emulate your grandfather and be a hero."

He offers me a tender smile. "You remember."

"How can I not remember when you continuously insist on practicing on me?"

His soft chuckles hold a touch of sheepishness but no apology.

I shake my head in mock disapproval, then reveal, "My mom was a teacher."

"I know."

Irritation suddenly prickles my scalp. I know how he knows. Unlike the story he shared with me regarding his grandfather's service, I never mentioned that my mom was a teacher. He knows because I'm part of his case and because my mother is part of his case. My heart shatters at what initially feels like another betrayal – my mom's contribution, her life's work reduced to a file number. A sharp retort dances on the tip of my tongue.

"From what you've told me…and from what I've read," he admits in a whisper, "she sounds like she was a hero herself."

My breath catches. It's a few seconds before I can breathe, exhaling through narrowed lips. All my irritation melts at the realization that Edward values my mother in the same way I value his grandfather – for helping to make him into who he is.

"I think…if I ever have the opportunity, I'd like to be a teacher, perhaps a gymnastics instructor." Again, I tip my head up. "A pretty blasé goal after dreaming of the Olympics, isn't it?"

"There is nothing blasé about you. Tell me more about your mom."

"Well, Renee…cooked the best Cuban food but failed incredibly whenever she tried her hand at any other cuisine."

Edward chuckles.

"She was a good dancer but hated any other form of exercise. She was a great mechanic but abhorred house cleaning. She had a dirty but not a mean mouth. She was much more outgoing than are my dad and me. Everyone used to say I looked like her but had my dad's eyes and personality, and I think they sort of pitied me when they pointed that out," I snort.

"She sounds pretty…wow."

After a pause, I continue. "She was pretty wow. Either way, the best thing about my mom was how completely she loved me. That night in the Everglades…she saved my life, more than once."

In the dim light, Edward's green eyes grow wide. He draws in a few successive breaths and swallows. When he speaks, his words are slow and measured; however, this time, I understand his reaction is borne of bewilderment, not of a quest for information.

"At the interrogation, you said that when you woke up after your parents' car hit the water, they were already..."

"They were dead, yes." Shutting my eyes, I recall my mom's long, dark hair bobbing like seaweed in the water, along with the unnatural angle in which my dad's head rested against the steering wheel. "They were both dead, and…and I closed my eyes and decided I was going to stay with them."

"Jesus, Bella."

"But my mom wouldn't let me give up. She said 'levántate,' the way she'd said every morning of my life."

"Get up," he translates.

"Yeah. So…" My eyes pop back open, and I smile, "I got up, gave them each a kiss, swam to the surface, and ran. James and Kate chased me to the cliff, as you know, but when they caught up to me…I meant to fall down that cliff, Edward, not to jump off of it."

This time, Edward remains silent, but the tremor that rolls up his spine reverberates throughout my body.

"But I heard her again, or rather I heard someone."

"Someone? You mean James or Kate?"

"No. I heard someone who…spoke for my mom. And I heard…"

In my memory, my broken bracelet jingles behind me, but that I keep to myself.

"So, I jumped."

At Edward's maintained silence, I dare a peek up at him.

Unable to maintain his composed façade, Edward wraps me in his arms so tightly it's hard to breathe. His entire frame trembles, his voice shaking as if, aware that I can't cry, he's willing to be the one on the brink of tears.

"Oh, baby. Thank God. Thank God, you hesitated."

He's right. Despite my proclaimed aversion to it, it was hesitation that saved me.

Edward skims his lips against my scalp, hard and repeatedly, as if assuring himself I'm actually here.

"I know it wasn't really her, Edward. I didn't hear voices from the grave or God or any form of deity." And my bracelet wasn't jiggled by anyone other than James. "It was my survival instincts kicking in – plain and simple."

He pulls me away and cradles my jaw.

"What if…it was her, in a way?"

I quirk an eyebrow. "Now you're going to be like Uncle Billy and tell me that Mom sent her river goddess, Oshun so that I would hear her and fight?"

A slow, half-smile creeps across Edward's mouth. "I don't know that I want to be compared to your insane Uncle Billy in any way, shape, or form, but I do like the idea of someone out there, watching out for you when I can't be there."

I can't resist rolling my eyes. "You have a serious superhero complex. So, what then? You're relegating a river goddess to merely the role of a sidekick? Robin to your Superman?"

"That would be Robin to my Batman," he smirks, "and if they promise to keep you safe, I'll be happy to play the sidekick instead. And I'll pray, worship, and believe in any and every deity under the stars. I'll even juggle cowrie shells and pebbles."

I laugh heartily now at the reference to his one and only Santeria service at Uncle Billy's insistence. Edward pulls me in once more, shushing me though he chuckles along.

"Shh," he instructs, but all his humor fades into rumbling moans when I brush my lips to his bare skin.

"Sleep, my sweet Bella. Between gods, goddesses, superheroes…and yes, me, no one will hurt you again. I swear it."

He whispers the last words vehemently, fiercely, and when his heartbeat eventually lulls me into a dreamless slumber, I have no reason to doubt the truth of his words.

OOOOO

I awake one more time that night.

Not out of fear or due to any lingering thread of a nightmare; no. My eyes flutter suddenly and all at once because of an overwhelming sense of peace, of rightness, of actual happiness beyond any I've ever known, certainly miles beyond any I'd ever expected. Instantly, I know why.

Edward's heart has been beating rhythmically under my ear all night, his chest rising and falling at even intervals…but not at the sedate, sluggish scales of someone in slumber. When I glance up, I'm unsurprised to find his gaze settled on me, dark and intense, just as I expected.

Words are superfluous. He pulls me up at the same time that I strain upward, our need simultaneous, mouths meeting urgently. My hands glide through his hair while his fingers grip and stroke, digging possessively into my bare skin. When he flips us, my back rests on the mattress, and his body hovers over mine, the weight of him full of promise, his frame hard and unapologetic. We waste no more time because we've both accepted time's preciousness. So, as he holds my gaze, I offer him a soft smile of encouragement, one final, wordless consent should one be necessary. My breaths erupt in stutters as he rids us both of what little clothing remains between us, then I nudge a stray strand of silky hair off his forehead.

When he pushes himself inside, my back arches off the mattress and my mouth falls open inaudibly. But, when he drives in deeper and stretches me, he swallows my cries of bewildered pleasure. Instinctively, we move together like an undulating wave on a lapping shoreline, sometimes rough, sometimes gentle, always sinuous as if guided by a gravitational pull we're powerless against. He grunts in time with the friction we create, his forehead creased, eyes aflame, and nostrils flaring. He slants his warm mouth over mine, and together, we shroud one another's susurrations because we're not alone. Hissed curses are muted against my neck, and frenzied moans are calmed at my breasts.

In turn, with each thrust, I alternately bite one broad shoulder then the other, then bear my teeth against his stubbly, angular jaw. When he holds me tightly to his chest, I latch on like one latches to a life raft set adrift in a thunderous sea, with arms and legs and heart and soul. My bracelet continuously jingles as wave after wave rolls against me, pulls me under and further away from that shoreline, and I answer each rise and fall with muffled whimpers. When the next wave climbs too high, when gravity's pull breaks me against hard, unyielding rock, I crest with my mouth puckered against his, with words that are our doom and our salvation spelled out in elliptical motion. And when it's his turn, when he breaks and topples against me with long and deep strokes, I cage his face between my hands and swallow the sounds he makes as he crashes.

Afterward, by the dim lamplight, I rake my fingers continuously through his damp hair, blowing on it gently to help it dry, while his head rests in the equally damp space between my breasts, and he does the same. His mouth brushes back and forth, the breath he expels against my wet skin, making me shiver.

We both know what we've done – no protection, tempting fate, begging it. Nonetheless, I have to make things clear.

"You don't…owe me anything."

He doesn't answer right away.

"Do you really think I could just let you go…just let you disappear without me?"

No. No, I didn't really think that, but...

"And not only because of what we just did," he continues, then pauses again. All the while, my fingers gently tug his soft hair. "I told you; you're my purpose, my second chance. Bella, people disappear all the time."

He throws in that last part with feigned nonchalance, with casualness as if we're discussing something as mundane as the next day's weather. 'Don't forget an umbrella. It might rain, plus people disappear all the time.'

Nonetheless, a chill runs up my spine, but again, not due to fear. Because despite the selfishness of the thought, despite knowing how insane such a step would be, my heart jumps and thrills at the possibilities beyond that step.

"Edward, it's not that cut and dry. I don't have a future here, but you do. You have your career; you have your family."

"I love my family, Bella, yes – even my pain-in-the-ass sister." He lifts his head and meets my gaze. "But, although I would miss them, and I know they'd miss me, I can live without them." The implication here is clear. "As for my career with the FBI…" he adds, "it's not what I once thought it would be."

"Edward…"

In one fluid motion, Edward sits up and pulls me up with him, resting me on his lap. He drops his burning gaze to my eye level, his eyes so heated and intense it's almost hard to look at them.

"Why are you fighting this?"

I try to look away, but his eyes follow. "Because…"

"If you don't want me-"

I shake my head, drop my eyes. "Edward-"

"-if I've read this wrong-"

"Edward-"

"-just tell me. I'll still do everything I can, everything in my power to keep you safe from-

My eyes flash back up. "Edward, damn it, that's not it."

"Then what is it?" he hisses.

Why am I fighting this when there's nothing I want more?

"Edward, I know what it is to wake up one day suddenly…and your family isn't there. It's a sense of overwhelming loss I wouldn't wish on anyone. What's more…"

What's more, the longer we remain together, the more we breathe life into the nightmare.

"What's more, under that sort of scenario, you give up everything while I gain-"

Before I can finish, Edward slips his hands around my neck and cradles my nape. His grip is firm, yet it's his next words that obliterate any other weak argument I may have considered…had I truly had plans to continue arguing.

"Bella, it's not the same, my love. Besides…sweetheart, don't you get it yet? You, with or without anything we may have…created tonight," he smiles, "are my family now – my life now. Bella, by being together, we both gain." He brushes his lips softly against mine, whispering his next words into my mouth, "We vanquish the ghosts of the past, and we both gain." When he pulls back, it's only enough to meet my eyes. "Okay?"

Against my will, reflections of a long life play out in Edward's emerald gaze, a fairy tale infused with all its necessary requisites – the rescued princess, the brave hero, the vanquished monster, and the happily ever after, even if somewhat modified by necessity:

Mr. and Mrs. Smith honeymoon in Hawaii, then return to a quiet, nondescript home in the middle of nowhere…together. Both work unremarkable jobs, but at the end of the day, they return to one another. Both miss what they once had but rejoice in what they now have: each other. Both make new friends, but they confide and trust in no one as much as they do in one another at the end of the day. Both pick up new hobbies, new likes, and dislikes, have good days and bad days, and maybe…

'We vanquish the ghosts of the past…'

Maybe they even bring a new life into the world…one who will honor those loved ones they no longer have.

'You know I can't go with you…'

And maybe…maybe the nightmare is merely that and nothing more: a nightmare; a remnant which will fade with time, a monster who we'll vanquish…just by being together.

'Bella, take the jump!'

Perhaps this is the next jump, the only next jump I'll have to take, and then…happiness.

Drawing in a long breath, I release it with a newfound sense of calm, of belief in, even enthusiasm for a bright future.

"Okay, Edward," I whisper. "Okay."

A/N: Thoughts?

Again, I want to thank everyone who reached out while this story was on "hiatus." Lol.

For those who are waiting for updates to Two Holidays and a Funeral, that will begin updating again next week!

And for those who are waiting for updates to Uprising, that should begin updating again soon too. ;)

Have a great weekend and a wonderful Easter to those who celebrate. 3