I. Climbing Out the Rabbit Hole

Summary: Isabella declines Jessica's invite to Port Angeles. Instead, she makes a solo trip to Seattle. One she ultimately doesn't plan on returning from. [Part I]

Perhaps the truck breaking down should've been the first sign that this whole thing was a bad idea.

But that certainly wouldn't deter me.

What had started as a simple (if lengthy) trip to pick up some more appropriate weather clothes, had evolved into an escape plan which would result in me never laying eyes on Forks, ever again. But not long after, and still a half-hour drive from reaching Seattle, the truck had shuddered to a halt and promptly died.

I idly kicked at one of the tires. What a piece of shit.

But hey, the day was still young, and I had two legs. So, I secured Bella's purse across my torso, wrapped myself in Bella's parka, and began the long hitchhike alongside the Interstate-5, heading north.

I gazed up at the overcast sky and shoved my hands deeper into the pockets of my parka. I hope it doesn't rain.

And then, it started raining.

I pulled up my hood with a resigned sigh.

Really, it could have been worse.

I had only just passed through Tacoma. The area between here and Seattle was pretty heavily populated. If I was reading my map correctly, I should be passing the SeaTac rest area sooner or later.

Soggy patches of grass squelched under my drenched sneakers.

At this rate, it'll probably be later.

I huffed a tired laugh, shivering as the gusts of wind grew stronger. The line of trees on my right swayed dangerously, branches snapping against each other. On my left, cars sped by, spinning tires scraping against the slick road and rumbling engines fading in and out of focus. It wasn't long before I sunk into autopilot, placing one foot in front of the other, raindrops splashing against my hood and shoulders, unfocused eyes glued to the gray horizon.

Beeeeep!

"Shit!" I hissed, the high-pitched blast of the car horn startling me so bad I slipped on a patch of mud and landed with a wet squelch. "Aw hell," I groaned, feeling the mud soaking against my jeans and sliding along my parka. With a dismayed huff, I slowly began pushing myself up. And to think this day somehow managed to get worse.

"I'm sorry," a quiet voice suddenly murmured beside me, and before I could react, a pair of strong hands clasped my forearms and pulled me to my feet. I stumbled, and stared up at the man as he steadied me.

I take that back. Prince charming has come to the rescue, I mentally giggled like an idiot.

"Are you alright?" he asked, peering down at me from his high stature with concerned, ocean blue eyes.

"Um, yeah, I think so," I muttered and then glanced down at myself and winced, "Except I'm starting to look like a boot camp reject."

The man blinked, seeming discomforted by my joke. Eventually, he settled on, "Sorry for startling you. I only meant to catch your attention."

I scrunched my nose in distaste. "You're the one who beeped at me?"

He shifted awkwardly. "Yes… Did you need a ride somewhere?" He was beginning to look like he regretted stopping on my behalf.

"Oh, um, that's nice of you," I smiled tentatively and shoved a thumb over my shoulder, "I was originally heading to Seattle when my truck broke down."

He lifted his eyes behind me and frowned. "Was it the reddish one? I don't know much about cars, but it looked like a bit of a lost cause."

I grimaced. "That was the one." I waved it off. "Doesn't matter. I doubt even Tony Stark could get that thing running."

This elicited a small smile. "You read comics?"

I keep forgetting it's still 2005.

I flapped my hand in a so-and-so motion and quickly changed the subject, "But if you know of a nearby Greyhound bus station you could give me a ride to, that'd be spectacular."

The man looked around the near-deserted highway with a frown. "I'm not too familiar with the area, but I'm also heading up to Seattle. I'm sure there's one in the city."

"Awesome!" I shot him a relieved grin, and then glanced down again. "Uh, do you mind?"

His eyes flitted over my mud-slicked jeans, before he shook his head. "It's fine," he shrugged his broad shoulders before gesturing for me to follow him further down the road where he'd parked his car. It was a battered old thing and I could see why my state of filth wouldn't concern him. Regardless, I did my best to clean the mud off my jeans and parka before sliding into the passenger seat.

Wow I hope he's not a serial killer, was my belated thought as the engine of his car shuddered to life.

"So, what's your name?" I chirped, when the silence began to drag out long after he'd merged back onto the highway. I glanced over to see that he'd shoved his hood down to reveal damp, curling blond hair.

"Fred," was his simple reply.

I blinked.

Fuck.

Perhaps it was paranoid of me to come to such a quick conclusion, but my whole situation was absurd to begin with. So really, would it be any surprise if the Fred sitting beside me was the same Fred who'd survived Victoria's newborn vampire army?

I didn't recall much of him―other than that he was so supremely awkward, his vampire gift was the ability to repel others.

That would at least explain why he seems so uncomfortable.

"Nice to meet you, Fred," I smiled nervously, although he kept himself facing firmly forward. "I'm Isabella."

He hummed in acknowledgment, eyes glued to the road.

I shifted, hovering my ice-cold hands above the heating vents. "So, what brings you to Seattle?" I wondered. Hadn't Riley found him by the coast? Plus, it was the middle of the semester. Certainly an odd time to be going on a road trip.

Beside me, Fred drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, expression twisted into a small frown. "Ah, I'm going to visit the University of Washington campus."

"You're transferring?" I guessed. He looked older, like he was in his twenties.

He nodded, silent at first, and then belatedly elaborated, "I might be. I'm looking into their masters programs."

I bit my lip before I could bombard him with a million and one questions. I turned into a complete chatterbox when I felt awkward, but I was pretty sure Fred would spontaneously combust from that much attention.

I think I managed to last a whole minute of listening to the quiet patter of rain splashing against the roof, before I blurted out, "How long did you plan on staying out here?"

Fred's expression grew startled, as though he hadn't expected any further conversation. "Just for tonight," he answered shortly. When he caught sight of my curious gaze, he shifted, fingers uncurling and curling back around the steering wheel. "I head back to California tomorrow," he clarified almost reluctantly, "That's where I attend school."

I blinked, surprised. California, huh? That's a hell of a drive.

Getting Fred to open up was like pulling teeth.

But I was in desperate need of some form of human interaction and it didn't hurt that he was immensely handsome―that is to say, I didn't exactly mind.

The brilliant thing about being socially inept was the fact that Fred didn't go out of his way to ask questions of his own. In his defense, I freely offered up information about myself―all near useless, but enough to make it seem like I wasn't just interrogating him.

In the half-hour drive up to Seattle, I learned that he was nineteen years old, a sophomore at Stanford University, and was majoring in marine biology. Fred spoke in a quiet, almost pained manner, as though he were unsure of how to converse.

It was once I got him talking science, that he transformed into a completely different person.

"―and did you know, microbes are responsible for virtually all the photosynthesis that occurs in the ocean―"

I sat with my back to the passenger door, one knee pulled up to my chest, and arms draped comfortably around it, watching Fred closely with an entertained grin. His voice remained quiet and his expression still verged close to neutral, but there was a keen intensity in the bright depths of his eyes that revealed his zeal.

It was rather endearing―in a nerdy sort of way.

When Fred abruptly trailed off in the middle of his tangent, eyeing me nervously, I piped up, "That's nice, Fred. Not everyone pursuits what they're really passionate about, but it seems you can count yourself among the lucky few who do."

His brow furrowed. "I don't believe in luck."

I shrugged and glanced towards the road, watching the old windshield wipers furious at work. Luck would be the least weirdest thing to believe in, I thought, irritated. I was miles away from Forks. But it seemed it didn't matter how far I got―I was still stuck in this body.

"And you?" Fred suddenly asked unexpectedly. I glanced over and caught him eyeing me from his peripherals. "What are you passionate about?"

"Me?" I tilted my head in thought, mostly surprised that he'd been confident enough to initiate further conversation. I then thought about his question. Unbidden, a memory of my students came to mind and my heart ached. "I want to be a teacher," I settled on, when really, what I wanted to say was, I am teacher. Not that I had thought of it as a passion at first, but then, those annoying kids had the nifty ability to wedge themselves into my heart. I miss them.

"A noble pursuit," he replied thoughtfully, and then tacked on, "And a rather underappreciated one at that."

I chuckled, "On that, we can agree."

It was when we made it further into the city that Fred spoke up again, "The tour I signed up for isn't scheduled until this afternoon. Perhaps, we could grab lunch before I drop you off at the station?"

I grinned. "Yeah! That's perfect! I'm starved."

The corner of his lip twitched upwards. "Great."

"It's also a good opportunity to ask for directions," I realized with a sheepish laugh, "Seeing as I don't know where the bus station is located."

"Right. That makes sense," Fred agreed, seeming reassured by the leap in logic. "Any preferences?"

I shook my head. "Whatever's closest."

I think Fred took me almost literally, because at the first opportunity, he pulled into a small plaza and parked right in front of a Starbucks. Fortunately, it was still a bit early for lunch and the small café was sparsely filled. Fred excused himself to the bathroom as soon as he stepped inside, and I made a beeline for the barista, digging out the map tucked into the purse hidden below my parka.

"Excuse me," I caught the barista's attention, "I'm new to Seattle and I was wondering―do you know of any Greyhound stations located in the city?"

The small redhead nodded, "Oh, yes, we do have one. I think it's located near the Seahawks' stadium."

I smiled with relief and asked, "Could you give me directions on how to get there? Uh, I have a map right here…"

"Of course! Here, let me get a pen and I'll draw out the route for you," she suggested, pulling the map from my hands. I leaned over and watched as she drew the simple route from our current location, over to where the stadium was. "It's definitely close by it, so you shouldn't have any trouble finding it once you make it there."

"Thank you," I grinned and then felt a small tap on my shoulder. Eagerly, I turned to give Fred the good news.

"Fred―wait...you're not Fred," I realized with a horrified expression.

Edward's breathtaking features twisted with concern. "No, I don't believe I am." And then, "Who exactly is Fred?"

A/N: Just wanted to share some ideas I originally came up with, but ultimately didn't incorporate into the original story. Mainly because I'm not good at planning stuff and the story kind of got away from me!

Also, please read the summaries I provide at the top! It'll help with understanding what's going on. I can provide only so many context clues.

I labeled this as part I, because I may follow up on it. Let me know what you think! :)

In Reference to A Body of Water and Bones: Replacement for Chapter 3.