Author's Note:

It's been a long time…and now I'm hearing the intro music to the tv show "Star Trek: Enterprise" that one of my sons likes to watch.

I've been watching a lot with him since coming down with Covid last year, and still struggling now. If you know what I'm talking about, I'm sorry, and if you've lost someone to that terrible illness, I'm even sorrier.

I can't really blame Covid for my lack of updates though, especially since it's been long before that since I last posted. All I can say is what anyone reading this for high-feeling, relational reasons already knows: when you care about other people's feelings, you are constantly busy, and usually overwhelmed, and I'm not sure that's bad but I do know it's a challenge I am yet to meet.

Hope any old friends are well, and my best wishes to any new ones. I am terrible at messaging, but grateful to know that we are not alone, being as we are, in this world—though we may feel very alone in our individual lives.

I hope too that Stephenie Meyer is enjoying the fruits of her labors, both in words and children, and I thank her once again for the starting point to so much satisfying re-telling and re-shaping the same basic love story—the impossibly eternal love of Edward for Bella (and Bella for Edward).

We'll see if I can do better this time – I'm eternally hopeful, if not eternally loved!

Xoxo liza

It is an uncharacteristically-quiet car ride from the woods to the hospital for Alice and Jasper.

Once he has the car underway, tailing the police cruiser with a careful distance between, Jasper reaches over for Alice's hand, squeezing then holding tight.

At the physical reassurance, Alice starts sobbing. "I can't believe I let her get hurt! I can't believe I was so selfish! Jazzy, what am I going to do?!"

There is a minute's or so quiet while Jasper waits for the biggest sobs to subside—he had practice with the brief summer storm quality of Alice's grief, knowing she has to cry it out and be done with it before she can move on, but would move on quickly when she was finished.

Sure enough, they are just on the outskirts of Forks when Alice inhales deeply, settles back in the seat, and wipes her eyes, saying, "I just feel like such a bad friend. How can I be her sister now?"

Jasper has to steal back his hand for the turn signal, so squeezes one more time and lets go as he says, "First of all, Al, sisters fight. Have you not noticed how Rosalie and I get into it sometimes? That's normal!"

"But we didn't fight! It would be easier to if we did, because then we could forgive each other. But this was all me! Bella never gets mad at people; she just gets her feelings hurt. Do you think that's why she left? Because I hurt her feelings?"

Shaking his head vehemently, Jasper responds immediately. "Absolutely not, Ali; absolutely not. It had nothing to do with you, except that you gave her good cover for an escape, and if you recall, I was there too and had a little something to do with it."

He looks over at that last comment with an arched eyebrow and goofy look, and Alice laughs, making Jasper smile as he turns his eyes back to the road and finishes the speech he's known he'd have to give her from the moment he found Bella shivering in the woods.

"Ali, the truth is, Bella is way different from you, and is going to be surprising all the time for a while until we learn to really know her, the way we know each other, and Edward, and Rose, and Emmett. But that's the fun of it, right?"

It was discordant timing that as he says this, he is pulling into a spot in the small ER parking lot just off the driveway with the ER entrance where Edward and Carlisle are working on getting an obviously-distraught Bella onto a gurney.

The two of them watch silently, transfixed by the scene, until Bella makes a move to get off the gurney and Alice cries out, "Bella, no!" while Jasper moves to quickly exit the car.

"Oh, wow, Edward's really good at handling Bella," Alice says, eyes wide, as she sees how effortlessly Bella is held back on the gurney that is now disappearing through the ER doors.

"Carlisle's not bad either," Jasper deadpans, closing the front door again after having started to open it to intercept Bella, relieved that he didn't have to participate in any more Bella-captures that evening, but surprisingly-comfortable with the idea of doing so again.

He laughs once to himself, and Alice turns to ask him why with a look.

Jasper responds, "It's just that I can't believe how difficult that girl is, while still being so impossible not to love."

Alice smiles brightly for the first time since realizing Bella was missing. "I know, she's just the easiest person to love ever, isn't she? It's like every time you see her you just want to pull her into your world and make her happy, and then she is happy, and it's like magic!"

Her smile fades as she returns to the question that's bothering her most. "Why didn't that work tonight, Jazzy? Why wasn't she happy with me like before?"

Free to focus almost-entirely on Alice now that Bella has been safely escorted into the hospital and is no longer visible through the doors, though a strategic voice in his head is reminding him to keep one eye on the exit, Jasper turns to face Alice and says, "Al, it had nothing to do with her love for you, and everything to do with your brother. Remember how hurt she was when he ditched her for London? Well, how afraid do you think she was that she would end up feeling like that again when he left her so quickly after bringing her home?"

Alice is listening intently, looking away from Jasper with her brows drawn as she remembers the pain of the weeks that Edward was away and how afraid she had been that Bella would never snap out of it, as well as the desperation she had momentarily caught on Bella's face when Edward had left that afternoon—the grief back and Alice determined to assuage it.

She thought she had succeeded with her conversation about the new fashion lines, and the trip to the dog kennel which always before had cheered Bella up. She says so.

"Jazz, why wasn't she happy with the dogs, and with me, this time? She always was before." There's a pause during which Jasper raises his eyebrows before she walks back her own statement a little. "Well, not happy exactly, but content…you know, happier than before. She loves it there! She loves me!"

And there are tears in her eyes as she makes this assertion, which is the root of her upset now that Bella is safe once more, the worry that maybe her little sister doesn't love her as much as she loves Bella.

Jasper quickly reassures her: "Al, she adores you, you know that, but she was just too scared to stay there and it was wrong of all of us to expect her to. We didn't know it was wrong, but it's important we understand it now, so we don't let it happen again. She was just trying to protect herself from being left again by the person she loves most. I know you haven't been left before, but I am telling you, it is a terrible feeling, and she was absolutely right to try to protect herself from it."

Alice realizes that Jasper has made a very rare emotional admission, and is therefore speechless for a moment afterward. Staring at his earnest face, she just barely-glimpses in his eyes the wounds from his prior lifetime with a drug-addicted mother and a father he can only remember the back of as he left in a fight, never to come back. She lunges forward, wrapping her arms enthusiastically around Jasper's neck, and says with vehemence, "Oh, Jazzy, I love you so, so, so, so much!"

Jasper laughs, and leans back in the driver's seat, hitting the seat adjustment to give them more room, and embraces her back. "I love you so, so, so, so much too, Allie Bird."

They kiss, but not for long (by their standards), then they separate by mutual understanding and exit the car, eager to go inside and see what they can do to fix another life maimed by parental neglect and weakness, as well as a profound misfit between a child's need for security and the realities of their world.

XxXxXX

I can't quite believe what I seem to remember. It all has to be a dream, right?

But what I know for sure is that I am in a different bed from my own, with something around one of my ankles and something against one of my hands and wrists and, for certain, a regular beeping sound that I know unpleasantly well.

So I'm in the hospital. But why? This is what I have to be sure of before I open my eyes. Is it my fault I'm here? Did I take too much of something again? I remember thinking about it, promising myself that if it didn't get better by February I would, but I don't remember doing anything. I mean, I still have the pill stash in my underwear drawer, but I didn't buy any fruit juice to take them with; I didn't write an apology to Charlie; I didn't—

"Isabella."

Oh my God. Oh my God! It's—it's his voice! Oh my God. What I remember can't be true, can it?

XxXxXx

She had slept through the x-ray of her ankle, so when she was wheeled back into our ER room to wait for the x-ray to be read still asleep, I had just pulled up a chair next to her bed rather than picking her up the way I wanted to do.

I am lost in thought, staring at her beautiful, innocent, oh-so-vulnerable sleeping face and reviewing what I've done wrong so far and thinking of ways to make it all right in the future, when I hear a soft throat-clearing behind me.

Expecting my father, I half-turn and say, "Dad?"

But it isn't my father greeting me back—instead it is a worried-looking teenage sex-habits researcher. I'd forgotten about him. I think, This could either be another disaster or actually helpful, and since I don't think Bob has the power to single-handedly pull her out of my clutches now that both our fathers are in agreement about her care, I decide to hope for some help and brace myself for admitting how I'd failed her earlier, yet again.

Before I can start in though, Bob comes up, puts his hand on my shoulder, and says, "I talked to Charles Swan in the lobby just now. He's feeling pretty bad about screwing things up right off the bat, and I'm feeling pretty stupid myself for not watching the transition more closely tonight. I am really sorry, Edward."

Well that is a surprise. I must have looked how I feel, because the next thing he says after pulling the other folding chair out from the wall and setting it up next to mine is, "You look shocked."

I find my own words, responding, "Well, Bob, I kind of assumed you were going to ream me out for screwing up again. With her."

Bob starts shaking his head before I'd even finished, saying, "No, Edward, from all I've heard, you did your best to mitigate the impossible situation the relevant adults put you in, and you can't hold yourself to blame for that. Besides, it also sounds like an important learning lesson for all the members of your household, not to mention her dad, so as long as she pulls out of it no worse for wear—" he pauses here, and looks up and down Bella's sleeping body, his eyes resting longest on the ankle now wrapped and propped up with a pillow, "well then, I think we can say it's all been for the long-term best."

He stops staring at Bella's ankle and turns back to me with a grin, "But let's try to have a more uneventful day tomorrow, shall we?"

I grin back. "Hell, yes."

Bringing up tomorrow makes the grin disappear quickly, though. I am worried—very worried—about how I am going to manage Isabella during the school day, with so many opportunities for her to slip off without me knowing. We've just seen that she isn't going to behave normally when I'm not around; how the hell am I supposed to manage her when we aren't even in the same part of the school building for two classes each day?

Bob does his creepy psychologist thing again, saying, "You're worried about how you're going to keep her safe tomorrow."

I nod, and say again, "Hell, yes," for good measure.

Bob nods back, saying simply, "So am I."

Then he shifts in his chair, leaning in towards me, resting his hands on his knees. "Edward, have you ever thought about homeschooling?"

No, I have not. But the second he says that word, I know it is the right thing to do. For her.

I say so. "That's fucking brilliant."

Bob smiles; says, "Glad you think so. Now we just have to sell your parents and hers on the idea."

But I know he'll get no problem from Esme. She'll think it is brilliant too, and that's all it will take to get Carlisle to go along with it, at least at the start. The only problem I can see is…"Do you think she might get sick of me, literally spending every minute together? I mean, I like the sound of it, and I can definitely keep her safer at home than at school. But I don't want to totally cut her off from other people; that doesn't seem healthy for her, somehow…"

I trail off, considering whether that would still be an improvement over what was apparently a non-stop self-harm fest, though I still haven't been let into the details of exactly how extensive that has been, and I am just working up a renewed irritation over that fact when Bob responds.

"Actually, Edward, I wasn't thinking you would homeschool—just Bella."

I turn in my chair to look at him straight on. Is he insane?

I ask. "Are you insane? We're just unbelievably lucky we found her tonight before she got any further into the forest. And you think I should just head off to school like it's a regular day and leave her to her own devices? You've—"

Bob is holding his hands out, palms down, trying to appease me, and finally interrupts. "Edward, no, of course I don't think you should leave her on her own. But I thought maybe your mom would be up to the challenge of being her homeschool teacher, and I thought maybe one or two of your siblings might be willing to stay home with her."

Now I am pissed. "My siblings? Why the hell would I leave her with anyone but me?"

I had forgotten we were sitting next to my sleeping girl, and at this last comment in, I will admit, a significantly-raised voice, she murmurs my name and tries to turn over, but gives up after not being able to move her elevated ankle. I hold my breath, not wanting her to wake up until I have beaten the mere idea of handing her over to anyone else in my family—for God's sake, Jasper and Allie have just lost her in the forest, and Rosalie watched her leave without doing a damn thing to stop her—out of this idiot's body.

Bob is quiet too, and waits silently a while with me until Isabella's chest is moving regularly up and down again. Then he calmly picks up as if we hadn't stopped: "For the same reason you already identified, Edward. She needs a variety of supportive relationships in her life in order to be well and happy, and so do you. This arrangement needs to meet both your needs, remember? And I understand you are an All-State caliber baseball player, and team practice starts up next month. We don't keep you strong enough to take good care of her by taking you out of your comfort zone and keeping you from successful endeavors. Think of it as daycare, and research has shown that working parents have higher-quality interactions with their kiddos when they are together than those home all the time do on average."

I don't even know where to start with all of that, so I just sit there for a little bit, staring at my girl and bitterly reflecting on how hard I have just fought for the right to take her home with me and now was having to talk about walking away from her every morning. It hurts.

And of course, Bob the Creepily-Intuitive Psychologist sees that and has to say it out loud. "I can see the idea of this is upsetting to you Edward, and I can see why."

"Then why are you suggesting it, Bob? I thought you were on my side!"

"I am, Edward; I'm Team Edward-and-Bella all the way. Just hear me out. If you leave Isabella with your mom and another peer or two that you trust—what about your sister, Rosalie? She doesn't seem overly-invested in the school environment. Would she maybe stay home with Bella? [I snorted at that, and he continued.] Whomever we pick, they would keep a careful eye on her, but she would be free to act differently than she will be with you. Less boundary testing, more of a normal affectionate relationship. You can be the authority figure who comes in and lays down the law, and they can work out adjustments using you as the bad-guy figure sometimes and forming a positive alliance for Bella's overall relational and physical well-being."

"You're suggesting I play good-cop, bad-cop with my mother and least-favorite sibling."

"Do you and Rosalie not get along?"

"That is putting it mildly. She will never in a million years go along with this. She highly disapproves of the whole thing and I'm sure can't wait to say 'I told you so' when I bring Isabella home tonight."

"But you see, Edward – that's perfect! She'll be motivated in proving Isabella can be independent and successful. And when she wins, you win, because Isabella will feel better about herself. It's brilliant, really."

When he puts it like that, it no longer seems like absolute idiocy, but the problem remains that Rosalie in a million years would never go for it.

I say so. "Rosalie will never agree to this."

Bob seems complacent and says, "Let's talk about it some more tomorrow, shall we? I'm arranging for the two of you to be excused tomorrow and Wednesday; by then we should have a better idea of what we're up against."

At that, we both look over at my girl, who is starting to stir again. When she goes suddenly rigid, it is clear that she has woken up.

I get up from the chair and lean in over her, waiting for her to be brave enough to open her eyes. I am determined that mine will be the first thing she sees.

And they are, though only incrementally as she opens her eyes so slowly, as if she is terrified of what might be there.

I try to reassure her by saying, "Isabella," in what I hope is my most calming voice, but all that does is make her flinch and freeze again.

Finally, she finishes opening her eyes.

She starts to bite her lip the second she registers me staring back at her, and her eyes shoot down soon after to study her hospital gown instead.

I stand there, eyes still boring into hers, waiting for her to break first.

It doesn't take long. "Am I in trouble?" she asks, so quietly I have to lean even farther in to hear it.

I grin. Is she in trouble indeed. "You mean, am I going to spank you for leaving the house without supervision or permission, then marching straight into the Olympic National Forest without a cell phone, compass or coat?"

I'm not sure where that language came from, but it feels right.

Isabella meanwhile is blushing as red as I've ever seen her, squeezing her eyes shut against tears, and nodding just enough to see.

"No, I am not, sweetheart. Do you know why?"

The tears come faster as she shakes her head emphatically "No," and I know I have to finish this quickly so I can get her back in my arms, feeling safe. "Because all of that wasn't your fault, it was mine, and it's never going to happen again. Now come here, baby girl," and I gather her into my arms, leaning over the hospital bed, unable to pull her all the way into me because of the hospital tubes and wrapped ankle but holding her all the same.

She of course starts to sob, my poor baby. I shush her and pet her and kiss her hair and her forehead, wanting her out of the hospital right away so I can care for her without all the hospital crap in my way.

As if reading my mind, my dad walks in.

I hear Bob greeting my father before excusing himself, sending me a last "Call me anytime tonight, Edward, and I'll be over in the morning to check on things," to which I merely nod.

I sense my father behind us now, checking the monitor, then hear him typing into the computer next to her bedside and "Hmmm"ing his way through what must be her lab reports.

I look up at the second "Hmmm." "Is there a problem with her labs?"

He doesn't even look over at me, concentrating instead on the numbers in front of him. "Not so bad as a problem, really, but we're going to have to watch her fluid intake and up her iron. Her hemoglobin's low, which isn't unusual for a young woman her age, but it's lower than it was at her last appointment with me, and her kidney function is looking just slightly stressed."

"Stressed?" I echo, hearing the stress in my own voice. My girl needs her fucking kidneys.

"Very slightly, son," Carlisle says as he finally turns away from the monitor. "In a clinic setting, I wouldn't do more than suggest an increase in water intake, and that's all we should need to do too. It's still in the normal range, so nothing to worry about."

Thank God. I have enough to worry about right now without adding her kidneys to the list.

Carlisle types something in, hits a few other buttons, then turns away from the monitor looking satisfied. "Well, I think we've done what we can do for her here. What do you say to trying to take her home again; see if this time it sticks?"

I look up at him, see the humor in his eyes, and all at once I'm laughing. He laughs too, and as he does so grabs his doctor's stool and wheels it around to my side of the bed where I have Bella curled up against my chest, hiding again.

We're both sighing and I'm wiping my eyes after our laughter as he sits down on the stool, pulls out his stethoscope, and looks me in the eyes, asking, "May I listen to her lungs, Edward?"

I say, "Of course, Dad," and bend down to Bella to say quietly in her ear, "Carlisle's going to listen to your lungs so we can get you out of here and back home, Sweetheart."

This causes some stirring, and she weakly fights my hold. "I'm okay, Edward; really, I'm okay!"

She's not fooling anyone, and the laughter is gone from the room now, but at least I'm feeling the clearest I've ever felt about what to do next, and how to do it.

"You're not okay, Baby Girl; your ankle is hurting and you're really scared, I know, but I'm going to take care of you and make you better than okay, I promise." I hear soft sobs, and feel her shaking; I pull her torso slightly more tightly against me with one arm and hand, and hold her head against my shoulder with the other.

Rocking her gently, I add, "I'm so proud of you, Bella."

She freezes, and my gentle rocking pauses too. Seconds pass. "You are?" she says, so hesitantly and disbelievingly another little piece of me breaks and is reformed around the pure determination to put things right between us; to make things right for her.

"Yes, I am," I reply, as forcefully and emphatically as I've ever said anything, though not too loudly for all that, trying to keep her from startling. Instead of volume, I add eye contact, holding her by her arms and crouching down to be able to peer up into her face. Though she keeps trying to avoid looking at me, I persist, and finally I catch her. She's crying, tears streaming down her face, her nose starting to run, and she's the most beautiful sight in the entire universe as she slowly, almost imperceptibly slowly, slides her eyes to mine, so afraid of what she'll see there until—she's looking straight at me, and for one moment she sees me and I see her and we understand one another.

Or at least she understands that I am here, and not going anywhere, and for once—finally—following though on the promises I've been making without acknowledging I've been making them since the first time I steadied her in science class. She is mine, and I am hers, forever.

She of course starts to cry, loud sobs, and her head drops as I pull her as tightly as I can into my chest, hiding her there, and she goes willingly, her struggle against me gone again. I reach my hand out and before I have time to ask there're tissues in it, courtesy of Carlisle, who is sitting patiently—and silently—waiting for me to finish comforting the newest addition to his family.

I am so grateful for the confidence of knowing that he's all in now, that I don't have to divide my attention between protecting her and convincing him, and I'm sure it shows when, after cleaning up her beautiful face a little, I look up to him (and hand over the used tissues) and say, "She's just about ready for you, Dad."

He smiles, takes the tissues and drops them in a nearby trash can, leans over for some hand sanitizer, methodically applies it, and says back, "We've got all the time in the world now, Edward. I'll wait until you're both ready."

I grin at him, nod, and bend back down to my girl, who has spent her tears and moved into heaving sighs. I breathe deeply with her, saying, "That's right, Sweetheart; that's my girl," and except for a brief hiccup of a sob right after she hears those words, she settles.

I hold her away from me a bit, catch her eyes again, and smile some more—grin madly is probably more like it.

She smiles shyly back, blushing madly, and looks away.

I laugh, and pull her in for a hug, then release her into a sitting position, my hands at her hips. Speaking to her bent head, I tell her, "Carlisle's going to listen to your lungs now, Sweetheart, and then we're going to go home and get some dinner. Can you sit up straight for me?"

She straightens her back immediately, and I praise her, as much love as I can funnel into the words "Good girl; good job, Sweetheart, just like that."

Carlisle moves quickly, talking to my girl as he does, "Okay, Bella, I'm just going to put the stethoscope against your back." she flinches a little as he reaches between the sides of her gown to place it against her skin, and he says, "I'm sorry, it's a little cold, isn't it? I'll be quick."

There's quiet as he listens, moving the stethoscope around a bit, then pulls away. "Good, Bella, thank you, that was just what I needed to hear. Now can we try it from the front, please?"

He's asking me, not her, and I reply, "Of course, Dad," then lean in and tell my little girl what's going to happen next. Holding tightly to Bella with both arms, I stand up and move around from her front to her back, saying as I go, "Carlisle just needs to listen to your lungs from the front now, Baby Girl."

She sobs a little when I say that, trembles a little too, but as I sit down with one leg bent up and on the bed then lift her up and pull her on top of it so she's on my lap, my arms crossing in front of her, she takes a big breath and relaxes back into me.

I rock us a little side to side, then kiss her cheek and whisper in her ear, "Good girl, Sweetheart; you're my very good girl."

A quick sob and she's relaxed into me, her head turned in and away from Carlisle but her body as open as it's been.

Carlisle moves in quickly, dropping the stethoscope down the front of her gown and swiftly positioning it, saying, "Thank you, Bella; I'll make this even faster."

He's true to his word, and a few seconds later, he's carefully pulling out the stethoscope, patting her shoulder, then standing up straight.

"Well done, both of you," he says, followed by, "Thank you, Bella."

Before he can say more, we hear a soft, "Thank you, Dr. Cullen," and we both grin.

"It's Carlisle now, Sweetheart," he says, leaning in again as if he were listening to her lungs but instead talking to her bent head. "And it's my great pleasure—except for the fact that you've been hurt. What do you say next time we run into each other like this, we do it at home?"

Bella blushes (I don't have to see her to know this), and nods her head bashfully, and Carlisle leans down and kisses the top of her head, pats her shoulder again, and says, "Good."

Turning to me, he says, "Edward, her lungs sound great. I'm going to write my last note and sign her out of here. I can do that from the nurse's station; is it okay if I send Alice in with some clothes now?"

"That would be great, Dad."

Reaching out to me, he puts a hand on my shoulder. "I'm proud of you, Son. You're doing great here."

We look at each other for a little bit; he nods, I nod back, and with that welcome bombshell, he walks away.

XxXxXx

Later that night –

Bella wakes up. Suddenly, her eyes fly open, and she sees moonlight out of the window in front of her, shining down over the trees. She's not even thinking about herself for a moment, just the beauty of the night, when Edward pulls his arm more tightly around her and mumbles, half-asleep yet but aware that Bella is awake, "What are you up to, little girl? It's time to sleep."

His own talking wakes him up more, as does her shy and embarrassed squeak at his voice and then her burrowing down under the covers and away from his arm.

He's wide awake and on alert as he fishes her out from the bottom of the bed with a strong arm around her waist, pulling her up and into the middle of the queen-sized bed on her back. "Hey," he says, his voice gruff with sleep and affection, "where do you think you're going?"

Bella blushes—he can feel the heat of it more than see it in the dark—and tilts her head down and away from him. He rises up over her, then leans down and grabs one of her wrists in each of his hands, pulling her arms gently but firmly up over her head, against the mattress.

"Hey," he says again. "Baby girl, look at me. Look at Daddy." This shocks her so much her eyes flick up and stare at his, and he smiles, holding her gaze as he continues, "That's my baby; that's my Isabella. You're such a good girl. Now why are you awake, angel?"

Bella is staring at his gleaming eyes, caught in his gaze but not as stressed or embarrassed about it as she would be in the daylight. Instead, she feels safe in his boxing her in, in his control over her body and his grip on her wrists, and she relaxes, a heavy sigh audible to Edward.

His smile widens, and he leans down to rub his nose along hers, and then starts gently, lingeringly, kissing first her forehead, then both her cheeks, then—slowly, slowly—her lips.

Meanwhile, one hand is now grabbing both her wrists, still holding them pinned against the bed above her, and his free hand has gone to the hem of the old t-shirt of his she is wearing, lifting it up above her panties and placing that hand, fingers splayed, on her stomach.

Bella giggles at the cold of his fingers on her soft flesh, and curls up trying to move away from his hand—but one of his knees comes up and pushes—gently but firmly—down on an inner thigh, pressing her leg back against the bed and keeping her open to him.

"Mmmm, Isabella, you're tempting me," Edward says, kissing again, this time pulling on her lips a little with his teeth.

Bella giggles shyly again, liking what she's feeling but not really understanding where it is all going, or knowing what she should do about it. "You're silly," she manages, a little breathlessly and unconvincingly.

Edward laughs deeply and says, "I'm silly, am I?" as his hand moves from her belly to underneath her panties, pulling them down in front.

Bella straightens her body and goes rigid, starting to pant a little, and says, "Edward! What are you doing?"

Edward, caught in the middle of wonderful dreams and lost in the moonlight, is going a little farther than he meant to, but he knows her fear can't win, so he goes a little further still and pulls her panties all the way off. "There; that's better," he says.

"But I'm not wearing any underwear!" Bella replies, half-outraged, and half-embarrassed.

"I know," Edward responds languidly. "I like it better that way, don't you?" and he leans down to kiss just below her navel, then moves up and above her belly, nudging the shirt up with his nose, kissing all the way.

This tickles Bella, who giggles and tries to turn to the side again, saying, "Edwaaarrrd," in a half-protest, half-indulgence.

"That's me, baby girl, but don't you want to call me something else?" he responds, taking the free hand on a gentle, sliding tour of Bella's chest and sides, leaning down to kiss each nipple.

"Daddy!" she bursts out with, as he sucks one nipple and then the other. "Daddy!" she protests again as her back arches her belly towards Edward and he slides the trouble-causing hand along her spine and down to her beautiful rear, running over its curves before lifting it to his own boxer-clad front.

The moment her center between her wide open legs is pressed from behind against her Daddy's stiff bulge in front, Bella locks down, letting out only a squeak before she stops any sound, breath, or movement.

Edward too is caught off-guard by the electricity arcing between them, and the ravenous feeling he has towards the little girl/young woman in his arms. Feeling like he must tear into her or die of starvation, he nonetheless lowers Bella's bottom back down, releases her wrists, and hovers in the air over her, resting on bent elbows and knees.

They pause like that, considering each other, for some time. Finally, Edward says, "I want to be inside you, baby girl."

Bella can only manage a very breathy, "Why?" in response.

"Because you're mine," is his simple reply, and Bella knows a longing so sharp and strong paired with a relief so acute and sweet that she swallows several times and blinks back tears before being able to speak.

"Then do it," she says, not fully understanding what "it" is but knowing that there was nothing about belonging to Edward that gave her any pause, and everything about it that she wanted.

Edward laughs, and the moment is safely broken, so he tucks Isabella back in, pulling her t-shirt down but leaving her panties off and flinging them to the far side of the room.

As he turns on his side and pulls her close in to him, nestling under the covers, the t-shirt rides up again and he finds himself pressed against her bare bottom, the most relevant part of his own body at the moment sneaking out of his boxers.

Thinking This is dangerous, Edward hears a quiet, breathy, "I love you, Daddy."

Awash in a feeling of love and absolute rightness paired with sweet relief from the worry and guilt that had been plaguing him from the first day she fell into his life, Edward slowly pulls all of her even more tightly against all of him, leaning down to whisper back in her ear, "Daddy loves you, too, Baby Girl. I love you more than everyone and everything else in the whole world put together."

She wriggles a little at that, trying to turn over to nestle into his chest, but he doesn't let her – not trusting himself to be able to resist should she become so perfectly available. It's difficult enough as it is, and there's a certain tension in his arms as they hold her in place that she feels but doesn't really understand.

Her trust in him though is now such that she relaxes in his iron hold, giving over to him without reservation everything she has and everything she's ever hoped for. And as her body goes limp with the resumption of sleep, heavy in his arms, Edward too is able to relax, aided by the brand-new relief of knowing that, as much as his body desires hers, his commitment to her welfare, to her best interests, to her psychological safety and feelings of contentment, that commitment is solid and dependable and capable of winning over his most compelling lust, his most intense desires for his own happiness and satisfaction.

Or perhaps it is that his most intense desire is now for her happiness, he reflects as he adjusts her slightly, pulling her up a little higher, making sure part of his pillow was also under her head, and finding a comfortable way to stretch his leg over both of hers, his bent knee resting on the bed and her body tucked completely in to his.

They sleep like this, together, more soundly than either has slept in years.

XxXxXx

Short but hopefully sweet.Per usual, another story start below.This one is particularly near and dear to me.Hope you like it too!

Xo liza

Isabella arrives at her orthopedic appointment. She is miserable. She took the T (the subway system in Boston) from school and is tired and overwhelmed from the day (and lack of food). She's living with Phil and his new wife, Renee having died in a car accident when Bella was finishing 8th grade. Charlie had passed away from a heart attack when she was in 6th grade. So now she's starting her 12th grade year, Phil and Maureen have a toddler and a baby, plus 2 more young children from her previous marriage, and Bella feels like a combination of Cinderella and the invisible man/woman. She wouldn't mind the household chores and babysitting, except she never seems to be able to do anything to Maureen's satisfaction, and the children are spoiled hellions who seem to thrive on making her life miserable. As a result, Bella tries to be out of the house as often as possible, and does her best to stay in her room the rest of the time she's there.

Edward is finishing his rotation in orthopedics with a clinic week; it's Friday afternoon and he can't wait to be out of this office. He finds the work pedestrian and inelegant (Hammers? Really?) compared with the adrenaline and fine precision of the emergency (the adrenaline) and cardiac surgery (the fine precision) in which he is going to do a dual fellowship.

Edward walks in to the exam room, his eyes on Isabella's file, prepared to be bored by another routine exam. He's dressed in standard-issue blue scrubs, having scrubbed in and done minor assist with an orthopedic surgery over his lunch hour, and hoping to fit another in before he leaves for the day—though the late hour his office appointments are running to is likely to thwart that goal. All he expects to see when he looks up at the patient waiting noiselessly for him—he appreciates that, being more used to being instantly accosted by garrulous patients willing to go on, and on, and on about their pain and all the mundane but terribly important to the patient details of exactly when, how and why (in their own limited understanding) they suffer—is a depressingly typical over-achieving high-school runner having already pushed her body too far in the pursuit of the current culture's extreme archetype of personal fitness and athletic success.

Instead, he realizes after about a one-second perusal of the patient before him, he is faced with a depressingly typical over-achieving high-school anorexic succumbing to the current culture's extreme archetype of personal fitness, athletic success and impossible female beauty (Edward has already nipped off his psych rotation, and saw lots of ED patients there).

Taking a deep breath and quietly sighing out his frustration with his late-afternoon plans going up in the smoke putting out the fire of this girl's psyche going up in flames is going to generate, in the form of the exam time, administrative maneuvering (lots of phone calls), and charting it is going to take, Edward plasters one of his signature smiles—truly, he doesn't quite realize how disarming they are, though he's already learned that his blood pressure readings tend to be higher than those the nurses take, especially for heterosexual female and gay male patients—on his face and starts the exam.

"So Isabella, what brings you here today?" he says as he folds his long body onto the swivel stool and turns to face the girl shivering in the exam gown and huddled on the exam table.

She tries to look up at him but can't look in his face, so addresses his right shoulder. "Um, my knee? My coach thought maybe if I got some orthotics, my knee wouldn't hurt so much?"

Edward's not really listening to her, but trying to guesstimate her body fat content based on the degree of protuberance of various bones and the rate of her current shivering and visible body hair growth. He doesn't like his estimate, and sighs again before saying "Mmm-hmmm," in vague acknowledgment of her cover story, then looking up at her with another smile he says, "I have to go get some supplies for the exam then, Isabella; I'll be right back—you stay put, all right?" And he winks at her as he stands and moves towards the door, and she blushes, and looks away, and nods, and as Edward exits the exam room he feels the beginning of a pull towards this wounded girl that starts off feeling like pity for her suffering and sadness at its seeming needlessness.

Bella for her part is clueless, and a little overwhelmed at the handsomeness of the doctor – but only a little, because she would never in a million years imagine he had noticed anything but her knee.

So she is confused when the equipment the doctor comes back in with what she thinks is a few minutes later, holding the door and wheeling it in one-handed and looking so awkward with it she starts to get off the exam table to help him, looks like an old-fashioned scale.

Actually it's almost 15 minutes later, as Edward has had a hard time tracking down a portable scale and doesn't get much help from the nursing staff who don't understand why he cares – "We're not an eating disorder unit," the head nurse tells him as she gathers her stuff together to go home. "We weigh in patients on the one scale at the front of the office, and if you don't believe the number on her chart, just weigh her again out there."

Edward doesn't even hear the tail end of her comment, not caring what she thinks about his evaluation protocol and already hearing that she doesn't remember where the old scale he knows he's seen in one of the supply rooms is so moving on to checking all the supply spaces himself. Finally, the last nurses's aide in the office for the day joins in the hunt, and she's the one who uncovers it tucked behind an outdated portable ultrasound machine.

Edward grins at her, and says, "Well done, care to help me get it in there?" and she would have (being not immune to his charms either) but she is told by the charge nurse on her own way out the door that she needs to clock out immediately, leaving only one other nurse and the receptionist in the office with Edward.

The nurse's aide ruefully smiles an apology at Edward, who shrugs his shoulder and says, "No problem; better get moving—you don't want to get on her bad side like me," and the aide titters and bats her eyes but knows he's right so scoots off down the hall to clock out as instructed.

So Edward manhandles the scale alone back down the hallway to the exam room where he left the girl, partly hoping she's still there and partly hoping she has turned tail and saved him the administrative arrangements he's expecting to have to make.

His relief is stronger than he would have expected when he knocks then opens the door and sees her still hunched over on the exam table, and when she smiles at him, it is his turn to be affected by it – not the sex appeal, but its sweetness.

He smiles back, and this time it reaches his eyes, so Bella blushes and looks down.

"Sorry that took so long," Edward apologizes, while tipping the scale carefully down and then zeroing it.

Turning back to her he says, holding out a hand towards the girl, "All set now. Come on down for a moment."

Bella stares at the hand like it's a snake rearing up to bite her, and Edward almost drops it, but an inner instinct makes him try moving towards her instead—slowly, and then Bella very, very slowly, her eyes on him the whole time, reaches her hand up and towards his.

When she's close enough, he does strike like a snake, but instead of biting he grabs gentle hold of just her fingertips, pushing up on her hand with his own and guiding her down and forward, off the exam table.

Bella doesn't want to get any closer to what she now understands is a scale, but she also can't resist the forward motion of the hand carefully but firmly holding on to her own, so she pretty much falls off the table, making Edward step forward with his other hand to catch her free arm at the elbow, stabilizing her for a heady few moments of shared space, the room silent but for their breathing, both faster than normal.

When she's standing and still, Edward slowly, gingerly pulls his hand away from her far arm and starts moving towards the scale, but feels resistance from the hand he still has clasped in his own.

Turning back towards her rather than pulling harder, he sees her wide eyes staring in fear at the scale as if it is a hungry mountain lion crouched and ready to spring.

"Isabella, it's okay. It's not going to hurt you," he says, his voice low and rough.

She jumps at the sound of her name, and drops her head, tears welling in her eyes.

Edward is acting on instinct, and from a very different place than his usual medical-appointment persona. It's not a conscious choice, nor something he'll ever regret.

"Just close your eyes and I'll lift you," he says, and though her head is tipped down, he sees her eyes squeeze shut at his instruction and he smiles, then quickly steps around behind her and lifts her underneath her forearms, carrying her the couple of feet forward to the scale then turning her around so her back is towards the weights.

Carefully setting her down on the black square, Edward releases her arms and moves back in front of her to keep her from getting off before he is done, quickly nudging the weights back and forth until he gets her disturbingly-low weight—a much lower number than the uncareful weighing (with her jacket still on, and the lead weights in her pockets she adds for occasions like this) at the start of the appointment.

As soon as he's sure of it, he quickly slides the weights back to zero with a crash that makes Bella jump, then moves forward to catch her under the arms again and twirl with her back to the exam table, saying "Up you go," as he hoists her back into sitting.

He's less slow and tender now because he's very worried; her weight is even lower than he expected, and he wants her in a medical unit receiving IV nutrition and effective psychological care immediately—although part of him is angry at the thought of people other than him caring for her, that reaction seems so nonsensical to his logical mind that he ignores it, or tries to.

Checking underneath the table for a blanket, he happily snags one up, and holding it out over her drapes it around her shoulders, covering everything below her neck.

Moving back to the front, he sees her hanging head and her blushing cheeks and smiles in spite of himself, then says, "Thank you, Isabella. I've got to go arrange for testing now; wait here for me, alright?"

She nods of course, though the more the distance between them increases, the more she is feverishly planning for her quick exit as soon as the opportunity appears. Chastising herself for thinking she might actually get some help in a doctor's office instead of more shame, she is fighting back sobs as Edward is wheeling the scale back out of the office (figuring it won't help her mood any to keep staring at it, and not wanting her to weigh herself—medical thinking about eating disorder treatment running towards not letting patients know their own weights).

As he opens the door, Edward throws out as if he has just thought of it, "Oh, by the way Isabella, who's with you today at this appointment? Are they in the waiting room?"

He's expecting a nod and a mumbled "My mom" or "My dad," but that's not what he gets. Instead her head drops further and tears spill down her cheeks, and she just shakes her head.

Edward pauses. "Did they just drop you off?" and his voice sounds as incredulous as he feels.

Bella's head drops further, and she shakes her head again.

Edward feels fury rise inside him at the poor care being bestowed on this sweet little girl, and his voice sounds a little angry as a result, making Bella start shaking as she answers his question, "Did you come here on your own?" with a head nod this time.

There's a pause as Edward inhales and exhales loudly, then he resumes a faux-chipper tone as he says, "No problem, Isabella; stay put and I'll be right back, okay?"

And she nods again, bursting into tears as soon as the door clicks shut.

Edward hears her, and says, "Shit," under his breath as he wheels the scale just far enough down the hall to be out of his way, then stalks to the front desk.

"Sonja, I need Isabella Swan's registration information," he barks to the receptionist, who hands over the clipboard with the information she had just finished entering into the computer system.

Edward grabs it, then says, "Thanks. Please page hospital admissions for me. Have them call my cell."

Edward turns to go back down the hall, but the receptionist stops him with a question. "X-ray just called; will you be needing them for your last patient?"

Edward looks over his shoulder, shaking his head, "No." "Tell them they're free to go. Do you know where the on-duty nurse is?"

The receptionist says, "She's on the phone with a pharmacy in the back office. Do you want me to interrupt the call?"

Edward says, "No, but as soon as she's done, ask her to find as many blankets as she can and bring them to Exam 2. Is it possible to increase the temperature in there?"

"I could page maintenance and ask them to up the heat in the whole office."

Edward nods, says, "Do that, please, but after you page hospital admissions, okay?"

The receptionist says, "Okay, Dr. Cullen, will do," and Edward says, "Thanks," over his shoulder as he walks back down the hallway towards the doorway he's been monitoring out of the corner of his eye for the whole conversation.

He leans against the wall on the waiting room side of the doorway and starts looking over the trembly writing of one Miss Isabella Swan, aged 17, who is claiming only one legal guardian named "Phil Dwyer," and whose signature she has clearly forged in the "Release of Liability" and "Agreement to Pay" sections.

He pulls out his cell phone and punches in the cell phone number in the "Emergency Contact" section, and just as it is going to an obnoxious voicemail, "Leave a message if you must," he sees the exam room door open and Bella stick her head out, checking both directions.

He smiles at her as he watches her eyes open wide looking at him looking at her, and his voice has humor in it as he starts leaving his message at the beep. "Mr. Dwyer, this is Doctor Edward Cullen at City Orthopedics, and I have your …" Edward pauses briefly as he thinks of the right noun to use in this context, "ward, Isabella Swan, here. She has urgent medical issues that need addressed immediately; please call me back at this number so we can arrange for her care. Thank you," and as he concludes his voice is as deadly serious as he feels as Isabella Swan bravely tries to walk right by him towards the waiting room and freedom.

Edward shoves his cell phone back in the pocket of his scrubs and moves quickly around Isabella, blocking the exit to the waiting room, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

"Where do you think you're going, sweetheart?" he asks, and he tries to make it humorous-sounding but there's a serious tone that neither of them misses.

Isabella stands up straighter and plasters a fake apologetic smile on her face, trying to lie herself out of a situation she's even more worried about having heard the threatening message the seemed-so-nice-before doctor left on her step-dad's voicemail. Lucky for her, he doesn't usually listen to messages except for work, and skips over calls from places like school or doctor's offices, not wanting to be bothered with more evidence he doesn't want that Renee's pain-in-the-ass daughter is self-destructing right in front of him. He just wishes she would get it over with and either kill herself or run away and stop bothering him with it all at the same time that he feels a lingering guilt over not being able to do better by Renee's daughter as he really did care for his wife and feels at least some fondness for Bella herself—just not nearly enough to make her problems the center of his existence, or anything more than a pained and guilt-ridden afterthought.

So Bella knows all she has to do is get past the doctor in the hallway and she's home free, and when he appears in front of her blocking her way she almost just ducks around him and slips through—but there's something about his stance that tells her that won't work, and she'd be better off talking her way out of it.

"I'm sorry, Dr., Dr., Dr.,."

Edward breaks in pleasantly, moving his hands to his hips now and supplying his name, "Cullen, sweetheart, Dr. Edward Cullen."

And Bella blushes but resumes, "Dr. Cullen, but I have to leave now. I'm going to be late. Thank you for the appointment."

And she tries again to walk forward, but Edward just stands there, unmoving, shaking his head slowly as he stares her down.

"Isabella, you are leaving this office without my say-so over my dead body," he announces as matter-of-factly as if he is telling her what brand of over-the- counter orthotics would best correct her instep.

This surprises Bella so much her mouth drops open and she actually takes a step backwards, staring up at the doctor in shock.

Just then Edward's cell rings, and he glances down quickly to check caller ID before putting it to his ear and answering it, "Dr. Cullen here."

It's the next-door hospital admissions department, and he quickly makes arrangements for an emergency eating-disorder assessment in the ER for the girl still staring at him with wide eyes and open mouth.

He tries to be as cryptic as possible in what he says on his end, giving her weight in kilograms and using acronyms and hospital code-speak wherever possible, but Bella doesn't miss her name or birthdate being used, and knows perfectly well what "ED" likely signifies in relation to herself and hospitals.

Finally, her brain kicks in and she turns to flee in panic, hoping there's access to a stairwell somewhere inside the office, but Edward finishes the call abruptly and moves after her fast enough to catch her elbow by his second step after her.

"Hey, there, sweetheart, it's not going to be that bad," he tries to reassure her after pulling her back and opening the room to the exam door, then pulling her in there after him.

Just then the nurse walks out of the supply room across the hall with a stack of blankets, and Edward says, "Perfect timing, Fadumo, thank you."

She smiles at him, says "I'm sorry; I was held up by a clueless new pharmacist. What can I do to help?"

"I think I've got it covered now; I'm just hoping to hear back from Isabella's guardian before walking her over to intake."

"You don't have to take her, Dr. Cullen; we can call Security for an escort."

Edward's shaking his head before she finishes, feeling the flinching and then cowering of the girl still with her arm held tight in his hand. "No, no need for that; I don't mind walking her over. I think maybe we won't wait any longer, how does that sound, Isabella?"

She doesn't bother responding, just sniffling back the tears that are escaping again, the futility of her situation now sinking in. She's decided there's no hope with the current doctor, he's on to her; so she's working on her speech for the next doctor who will hopefully care a little less.

Edward didn't really expect a response, so now he's reaching out for the top blanket on the nurse's pile, draping it around her and then following it with another, creating a warm cover over the shaking girl with not nearly enough body fat to heat her own body.

Edward looks and shakes off the last blanket offered, saying, "I think if we add any more she won't be able to move, and I think she'd rather walk than use a wheelchair, is that right, Isabella?"

And Bella does nod at this.

"Okay, then, we're off; if you can log the transfer for me in her file before leaving, I'd appreciate it."

"Absolutely, Dr. Cullen. Sonja and I will close things out here," and by now they've reached the reception desk, so Sonja chimes in with, "Yes, we'll close everything up. Do you need anything from the back office?"

Edward shakes his head as he keeps marching Bella forward, one hand around her arm above her elbow, the other resting gingerly on the opposite shoulder to keep the blankets from falling off of her. "No, I'm good; I've got my cell and my car keys and that's all I'll need until Monday. Oh—would one of you mind putting that scale away before Nurse Ratchet sees it Monday morning?"

And getting two titters in response to his nickname for the not-well-liked nurse manager, Edward winks his way out of the office and into the elevator lobby.

Bella is in shock, simultaneously enraptured with the gentle heaviness of Edward's hands upon her and terrified of how empty it will feel when the hands and the kind man attached to them are gone. Forever.

Biting her lip at the thought of that word, her brain checks out, and she moves like a zombie onto the elevator and then off again, marching through the office building lobby towards the hospital walkway like a condemned person already come to terms with their impending end.

Then out of the corner of her eye she spies a ladies' room, and her stubborn survival instinct that is the only reason she is still breathing asserts itself once more. "Dr. Cullen?" she asks, all innocence and supplication as she stops in the middle of the hallway.

He is surprised, but stops too. "Yes, Isabella?"

Then, like the accomplished actress she is, having played the I'm-fine-good-quiet-girl role so long with teachers, neighbors and Phil and Maureen alike, she says, just hesitantly and embarrassed-sounding enough to be believable, "Um, I—I have to go to the bathroom?"

She even blushes, and Edward believes it all.

"Okay, Isabella, there's a ladies' room right here. I'll be waiting for you, okay?"

And nodding, afraid to feel the giddy prospect of escape before it's actually materialized, Bella just follows Edward off to the side in front of the door, shrugging out of the blankets as they go.

Edward gathers up the blankets and smiles at her, watching her enter with no concern as he knows that there's no way to flush yourself down the toilet and disappear.

But what he doesn't know, and Bella does, is that this bathroom has a different entrance from the hospital lobby, and instead of heading into a stall she walks quickly out of the opposite entrance as soon as the Edward-side door closes.

Once in the hospital lobby, she restrains from bursting into a run, and instead of turning to go out the main doors as there is a police guard at the exit and a long walk to get there, she ducks in to a nearby stairwell and runs down to the basement level.

As she is about to exit on the basement level, she hears voices approaching the door and veers right to head to the next level down. This level has only maintenance facilities, so she finds the door locked and turns around to head back up to the basement. As she does so, she hears a door open father up, and voices – one of which she recognizes.

If she'd been able to listen calmly, she would have heard the following conversation between Edward and Jasper, his soon-to-be brother-in-law working on his residency in psychiatric treatment, conveniently serving on the eating disorder unit now and the first person Edward calls after paging security when he sticks his head in the ladies' bathroom door, listening to a little inner twinge of worry that something is wrong, and catches sight of the opposite exit into the hospital lobby.

Jasper: "Are you sure she came in here?"

Edward: "The security guard was certain. He noticed someone fitting her description heading this way, and she didn't get picked up on the camera in the hallway past here, or exiting in the basement."

Jasper: "There's a skyway to the parking garage on the next level."

Edward: "I know. Let's check it out."

Terrified, she freezes as the voices go up the stairs and away from her, but not before she finally catches the last thing said before the door swings shut behind them.

"The worst part is, Jazz, I really liked her."

XxXxXx

Liked. Past tense. Listening in the dim light, it is all I can do to swallow the sob that washes through me as I hear Dr. Cullen utter those words. Yet another person finding me unworthy, leaving my life. i'm sorry! I wanted to scream out. i'm so sorry!

But thank goodness I didn't; I held still; I felt the pain lance through me but did nothing in response. I'm getting better at that. If I don't find the courage to finally kill myself soon, maybe that will finally count for something. Maybe I'll finally be able to do something right, something that makes sense to other people, that they want me to do. Something...strong. Aggressive. Capable.

Yeah, right. I jump when I hear the metal door clang shut behind the two men as they leave me alone in my hiding space, and I know I can't wait long. They said something about security guards-panic floods me again and I run up to the basement exit landing, noticing for the first time a fire door opposite the exit.

I try the handle, and mercifully it opens. I enter a maintenance hallway, locked doors on either side, but at the far end there is a small flight of stairs, and at the top—a door! A door with a window through which I can see the street outside!

I run up the flight of stairs and push on the door, elated when it opens and I can run out, the door slamming shut behind.

I am outside, in the cold night air-and without my coat (it had been left behind, forgotten, in the miserable exam room that had started this whole ordeal). I shiver, partly from the cold and partly from fear. I am on a dark side street, facing dilapidated store fronts that were already closed for the night. A couple people are walking down the sidewalk a block away from me, shouting loudly at someone else I can't see. A car drives by, slowly, turning at the corner.

And meanwhile, I am standing in the harsh light over the doorway, completely exposed. I have to move.

Turning, I run blindly around the building, finding a scraggly old tree-part of some old and neglected landscaping idea that had not been seen through to completion, it would appear, and in a moment's impulse, I dive behind it, curling myself up as tightly as possible between the prickly evergreen branches and the cold cement of the hospital building behind me.

I am not a moment too soon, because next I hear the heavy footfalls and see the moving flashlight beams of two security guards walking down the sidewalk, coming around the opposite corner of the building from where I just exited. I squeeze my eyes shut, pulling myself into as tiny a ball as I can manage, and hold my breath.

I hear their voices as they clomp by me.

"This is a f'in waste of time."

"Yeah, well, the computer said someone just used the north exit around this corner. Could have been the kid that ran off."

"I can't believe the shit we have to do in this job! Let the asshole doctor find his own crazy patient! We don't get paid enough for this shit."

They pass my hiding place in silence, and I am certain they'll hear my heart beating or my breathing which sounds like gale winds to my ears.

But they keep going. They keep going. And they're past.

I hear the angry man say again, "Besides, it was probably just one of the f'in housekeeping staff sneaking out for a cigarette. Kid would be stupid to run out here alone this time of night. F'in cold too."

I'm beyond embarrassed; as if it's not enough that I'm a "crazy patient," I'm stupid too! But I knew that. He's right. "You're right!" I want to scream after him. "I am unbelievably stupid! I keep trying when it's obvious I'm no good and I should just die! When am I going to be brave enough to just die?"

But I don't. I stay quiet.

And I hear the other man say, from farther away now, "Yeah. I could use a cigarette."

"Break's coming up; let's get this shitty nature walk over with and report back in, then get some f'in coffee."

Nothing more is said that I can hear, and though I wait what feels like forever, they don't come back. Finally, I carefully open my eyes, and then, after nothing bad happens for a few moments, I gingerly rise to standing, holding my hand between the prickly branches on the tree trunk because I feel a little woozy and this would be a very bad time to faint.

I stand for a while, debating what to do. I have a couple of friends I could call that I'm pretty sure would come get me, if they could talk their parents into letting them. Jacob is almost a sure bet, because his dad doesn't keep tabs on him at all. Only problem is, I don't have my phone. And I'm not sure I have his number memorized even if I can find someone willing to let me use theirs. He doesn't call me very much, and I call him even less-and it's the picture of his friendly face that sticks in my brain, not the numbers of his phone.

Maybe if I can walk to the T station, someone would lend me the money for fare home? That seems like the most promising idea. I don't even consider calling Phil, because I can't stand the idea of the lecture I'd get and the shame I would feel for causing him the trouble of having to come pick me up. I am refusing to think about how he would react to the phone message from Dr… that man. I am hoping I can play it off as just an overconcerned know-it-all doctor poking his nose where it doesn't concern him. Phil isn't predisposed to thinking highly of the medical profession.

So. The T station. I don't recognize the surroundings at all, so I'll just carefully circle the building, hopefully staying to the shadows, until I do.

This plan works for an anxious while, until I come face-to-face with a massive cement structure blocking my path. A parking garage—with cars exiting ever couple minutes from a driveway, hidden from my view, around a corner.

I stand there a while, debating, then decide to risk going inside it. I'm almost convulsing I am so cold, and there is no place to hide anymore-the garage abuts the street, no sidewalk at all. When I stick my head around the concrete at the corner, there seems to be more lights and activity on the street intersecting with the one I face. I can also see through the wire fencing stretched across a break in the cement wall another garage exit facing that busier street-so I have my plan. Taking a deep breath, I run for it, going around the corner and then around the white arm that is down, with luckily no car in the driveway at the moment.

When I get into the parking area, I try to act nonchalant, like I am any hospital visitor or volunteer looking for my parked car.

That works until I see a security guard strolling down an aisle between me and the other exit.

I duck down immediately and hold my breath, hoping he hasn't seen me.

I don't hear any footfalls moving my direction, so after a little while, I carefully raise my head over the trunk of the car I am hiding behind and see... a group of three security guards, cigarettes hanging out of the mouths of two of them, one drinking a cup of coffee, and all of them standing between me and freedom.

I instantly dropped down to a crouch again behind the car. I decide I will just wait them out, and scooch back to the cement wall, making myself as small as possible but allowing myself the small luxury of resting the side of my head against the bumper, the rest of me wedged as close as I could get next to the tire.

"Please don't let this car's owner come out," I repeat in my head over and over while the security guards laugh raucously over whatever conversation they are having.

I am just getting to the point of incredulity over how long a coffee break could possibly last when a large hand covers my mouth and a strong arm circles around my waist, drawing me sideways away from the tire and into someone else's body. I can feel his chest against my back as my assailant hisses, "Shhhhh, don't let them know we're here."

When I hear his voice, I know. He has found me. Dr. Cullen. I am lost.

Tears start in my eyes, and I feel my body start shaking. He must notice, because he says, "Isabella, I'm not going to let anything bad happen to you. Please stay calm, or those dolts over there will get their heads out of their asses and decide it's about time to do their job, and you won't like that."

A tentative thought flares in my mind, a small ray of hope. Could it be…could it be Dr. Cullen will help me?

As soon as I think it, the poor thought is shouted down by the cacophony of voices of experience scoffing at the ridiculousness of it, but my inner turmoil distracts me enough from the terror of capture that I relax a little in Dr. Cullen's hold.

He rewards me by relaxing too; taking his hand from over my mouth and loosening the arm that was gripping my waist.

I miss the tightness of that arm as soon as it relaxes, and to my instant humiliation, my body turns into him of its own accord, seeking desperately to replace the little bit of human contact that he just gave me so freely.

He laughs lightly, quietly, and makes the humiliation worth it when he wraps both his arms around me and pulls me into his lap as he moves from his crouched position behind me to sitting on the concrete floor, his back up against the wall like mine had been.

I am now curled up against his chest, and despite myself, blissed out. I only vaguely register him leaning forward, compressing me a little, as he withdraws a phone from the pocket of his scrubs and starts texting. I can't see the phone where he's holding it in front of me, but I can tell he's texting because of the small motions his arm muscles make as he moves his fingers across the screen.

I choose not to panic because he has chosen not to rat me out to the security staff, and because I was tired of running, and tired of my life. Not to mention that I would gladly endure another psychiatric hospitalization or eating disorder treatment course if I can get another two minutes in Dr. Cullen's arms. It is that good. He is that good; the feel, the smell, the comforting and overwhelming nearness of him.

And now, when he is done with the phone and has tucked it into the pocket on the front of his shirt, next to my head, and his hands are starting to move against my hair, and my back, and my hip—the good is getting much, much better. I close my eyes and soak it up, melting into him like ice into cement on a steaming hot day.

I don't notice when the security guards get paged back to their posts, and I only barely register when someone else approaches Dr. Cullen.

I realize, kind of vaguely, that I've gone from tired and sleepy to woozy again. I try to remember when I've eaten last, and realize it had been the day before, and only an apple then. I have overdone it. I didn't mean to; I knew I was supposed to be having dinner tonight with the "family" and I had simply wanted to be able to consume what they would consider a "normal" meal…but having been at the hospital far longer than I had expected, I had overshot and become faint instead. I only hope I can pass it off as normal exhaustion after a stressful day.

My eyes flicker open as I feel a new pair of hands upon me, and then Dr. Cullen unfolds himself and stands, me still cradled in his arms. I can't help but do what comes naturally, as shameful as it is, and turn to hide my face more completely in his chest as my arms, weak as they are, shoot up and around his neck. I can't hold them together very well though, so my hands are kind of dangling against his back.

The beauty of all of this is, after another laugh rumbling through his warm chest, Dr. Cullen seems happy with me for acting this way! He leans down and whispers, "Good girl," in my ear anyway.

I bite back a cry of joy but can't contain the first sob of relief. Or the second. Or the third.

I hear a car pull up nearby, and a door opening, then the other voice from the stairway saying, "Climb in Edward; I'll get the safety lock and take the other side."

I feel Dr. Cullen walking towards the voice, and feel him press my head against his chest as he folds into the car that's still running.

I am so grateful that wherever I'm going, it's a car ride away from the hospital, that I don't even think to ask. I decide again to just enjoy this, the incredible warmth and safety I am feeling right now, for as long it lasts. I know I should be ashamed of myself, but just for this wonderful moment, I don't care.

I have no idea how long the car ride is, because I think I fall asleep after Dr. Cullen pulls the seat belt tight across us both and fastens it—I hear the click. I jump a little at the click, not because I'm scared, but just because I jump at things.

He doesn't know that though, because he starts rubbing his hand down my back again, and saying, "Don't be scared, Isabella. I've got you, sweetheart. You're going someplace safe, okay? I'm going to take good care of you."

I want to reassure him, really I do, but the soothing sound of his voice takes away the last bit of energy in my body, and I think I fall asleep.

Or rather I know I do, because I wake up when the engine stops.

I hear the driver and the other man getting out of the car, their doors slamming, and I jump for real this time.

Trying to come back to reality, I attempt to sit up straight but am still strapped in tightly.

I feel his breath on me, I know he's looking down, so I just whisper, "Please don't leave me here."

"Please don't leave me," I repeat, forgetting the "here" because it isn't really what I mean.

I'm starting to cry, and trying to cover my head with my arm (unsuccessfully because of that seat belt), when I hear Him say, "No one's leaving you, Isabella. You're just getting here, and the rest of us have no intention of leaving for a very long time."

I don't know what Dr. Cullen is talking about, but it surprises me enough that I stop crying, and stop trying to wiggle out of his hold, and he takes that moment to unclick the seatbelt, hold my head, and stand up out of the car.

He starts walking, and I hear the car door slam behind us, then a new voice moving along with us, a new hand patting me on the back gently once…twice…resting there as we keep moving forward.

We pause and I hear scraping sounds of locks turning and a door opening, then I hear that new voice say, "Welcome to the Cullen family, Isabella. I'm Carlisle Cullen, and I'll be taking care of you now with my wife, Esme. She's eager to meet you; the whole family is, but I think right now, we'll just go straight up to bed and get your fluids going."

I didn't like the sound of fluids, but I didn't have any strength left to protest. And at least it didn't sound like a hospital.

"You have her, Edward?" the new voice asked. Carlisle. Carlisle Cullen. I wonder if—

"Yeah, Dad, I've got her." That was Dr. Cullen. So it is his father! Dr. Cullen took me home to his family! Dr. Cullen took me home to his family! Dr. Cullen really is going to keep me!

I am beyond myself, but I kind of hear Dr. Cullen keep talking as he moves forward, then up some stairs. "Let's keep moving. I can just about feel her heart rate slowing. Is everything set up?"

I'm not sure what his dad said to that, because that's when I oh-so-gratefully gave up and went to sleep.

XxXxXx

Remember—the greatest bravery is staying alive in a painful, often-dangerous world that's particularly cruel to those with more feelings than they know how to manage on their own.

Please be brave. We need you!

Love, Liza