Posted 2021-09-13; Beta'd by Eeyorefan12

"Yeah," Edward grunted in response to the knock at the door, not even bothering to look up from his computer screen. He scowled at the email he'd been writing, rubbing his face in his hands.

"Hey," Jasper said, sitting down in the chair opposite his desk. By the sound of the distinctive clink and clunk that accompanied his arrival, Edward surmised that it must be Friday. Jasper wasn't much of a drinker, but he had his rituals.

Edward snapped his hand around the man's wrist before he could push down Edward's laptop screen. Shooting him a warning glance, he went back to composing his email.

"Well, hi there, Jasper," his brother-in-law drawled, unfazed by Edward's moodiness. "Hey man, good to see you. Just give me a minute and then we can start Friday."

"Shut up," Edward muttered. "Not all of us get to kick off because it's the weekend."

"Trust me, I think even management gets to take time off, especially after it gets back from living in a hostage situation for two months." Jasper slid one of the beers over towards Edward. "And If we can do it somewhere other than here, that would be great. This place stinks."

Edward paused momentarily. That would be him that was stinking up the room. He'd showered . . . one run ago? Or was it two? He knew he'd eaten because his mom had sent over plates of food. His father would have excused his absences on the pretext of work. There had been sleep . . . somewhere. Work was the thing into which he could always throw himself when he needed to ignore . . . other events in his life. It was obligingly never-ending and incredibly consuming at the moment.

"Damn Aro," he muttered.

"Oh, great," Jasper whispered.

"What?" Edward, slammed down the laptop screen himself. "You come in here, clearly offering some kind of intervention, and the first time I say anything real, you give me that? Thanks but no thanks."

Jasper stared at him in surprise before finally shaking his head. "Uh, no man. I just realized I forgot to pick up Alice's dry cleaning."

Oh.

Crap.

He dug his hand into his scalp. It was greasy. Yeah, he was gross. "Sorry."

Jasper shrugged. He was so rarely offended—and one of the most empathetic guys Edward had ever known. "Come on. Let's go hang out on the deck. It's nice out. And the air's definitely fresher."

He was sure it was. August was the best part of summer, as far as Edward was concerned. When was the last time he'd sat on a deck and just enjoyed the view—

Stop it right there, he told himself. And don't ask yourself stupid questions.

"You're thinking about Bella."

Insightful damn in-laws.

There was no point in lying to Jasper. He'd know. "Yeah." He said it softly. Edward had been tightlipped about everything that had happened in Italy, giving his family the barest of details about what most of them still viewed as a work vacation. The current story was that he was so busy catching up on work while Bella was applying for jobs that they were taking a bit of a break. He hoped to ease everyone into the idea that he and Bella had ultimately decided they weren't as compatible as they'd thought, and eventually, she would be merely another former girlfriend.

Carlisle knew, of course. Still, his father was leaving the details and resolution to him.

And then there was Jasper, to whom he'd had to give a lot more information to complete their cover at home. And in those several conversations, it hadn't taken his brother-in-law long to ascertain how much he cared for Bella. Of all of his family members, only Jasper knew or had surmised the whole truth. "Like I said: anytime," Jasper reminded him.

Yes, Edward could so easily check-in and see how Bella was doing, couldn't he? Jasper had seen to that.

He hoped she didn't know she'd gotten a position in one of their subsidiary companies. It had been on her own merits, but he'd made sure the HR manager knew to offer any accommodation Bella needed once she was hired. He hadn't said why, but there had been enough times with other hirees needing extra help that it wasn't something the manager would think too much of. The Cullens employed good people, but often people with difficult backgrounds that made them especially grateful for fair treatment, not having experienced much of it before.

"Thanks, but it'll only make it harder." He looked around his office. There was nothing urgent, even though he treated it like it was. "Let's head outside." He actually couldn't remember the last time he'd sat in the sun but he was sure it hadn't happened since Italy.

He tried hard not to think about Italy much, though he wasn't always successful.

The garden was full of summer flowers. His mother's prized dahlias, roses, and hardy Russian sage spiced the air. It smelled of home. And it reminded him of Bella.

Be honest, Cullen. There isn't much that doesn't remind you of her.

"I haven't had a peep from her, y'know?" Jasper said. "She's been clean all around with her contacts. The easiest thing I have to manage."

"She's not a thing." Edward took a swig of his beer.

"Sorry. A poor choice of words, but I think you get my meaning." Jasper didn't look at him, staring out at the trees made gold by the late afternoon sun.

No, Bella hadn't told anyone anything about what had happened to her. Through their necessary surveillance, they knew she posed no risk to them or the Morandis. She was good to her word. He'd never expected otherwise.

Mainly for her safety, Jasper had followed her movements closely at first, even though Edward had asked to be kept out of the loop. The surveillance had been lessened over the intervening weeks.

Eight weeks and five days, to be precise. Not that I'm counting.

"She's used a couple of sick days lately," Jasper said. It was far too casual a statement to not be planned: he was trying to provoke a response.

"No offense, but don't quit your day job for a career in counterintelligence," Edward muttered, taking another swig from the bottle.

Jasper chuckled. "Noted."

"Do you know why?" Edward asked, immediately holding up his hand, "No. Don't tell me why. And don't tell me stuff in general. It's not helping."

"She's not doing okay." Jasper looked grim.

Edward swore silently.

Freaking stupid brother-in-law. Or smart.

"Is she—?"

"She's going to her counseling sessions, yeah." Jasper used his finger to circle the wet spot from his beer on the deck chair.

She was seeing the counselor. That was good. Edward tapped his fingers on his chair, impatient for more. Jasper made him wait, drinking a few more sips of beer.

"She doesn't see people, Edward. She goes to work and home. It's weird for someone her age who went to school there the last four years. No social life? It's . . . concerning."

The anger was immediate and his response, vicious. "Why are you telling me? If you really think this is a security concern or I've mishandled something, then take it up with my boss!"

Jasper pressed his lips together, breathing in through his nose and then exhaling.

Nice work there, Cullen, being a total jerk to your best friend.

"I'm sorry . . . again." He pinched the bridge of his nose. How many times was he going to have to apologize to Jasper? This was why he stayed away from people as much as he could now.

"It's fine." Jasper seemed unconcerned with the apology. "But Ed, man, I know you guys both went through some shit but she—well, it's gotta be a lot harder for her, right? I mean, she's smart and all but she's pretty young. I think you should go see h—"

"No." No way. "I promised her that she'd have her life back and that she wouldn't see me. I already broke that promise when I dragged her here the second time. I'm not doing it again."

"I'm not suggesting that you let her know you're there, necessarily. Just maybe . . . I dunno, go to Boston for the weekend. Blow off some steam, even. See her from a distance, but please go see her. How she's behaving, it's—there's something off about it. And no, I don't think it's security-related, but maybe it is. Go look—make me feel better about how I'm doing my job." Jasper rolled the beer bottle between his hands, finally setting it down after clenching it too tightly.

I'm being a jerk. Edward knew Jasper had his own issues to deal with at home. He wasn't entirely sure what had happened, but things between Alice and Jasper were . . . strained. Although Edward had avoided most family gatherings, he hadn't been able to get out of the last couple of Sunday dinners and he'd seen all he needed to. There had been nothing overt, but it was clear to anyone who knew them well. Edward could at least put his friend at ease about the work he was doing.

Jasper wasn't wrong about Bella, either. Edward had been telling himself that she must be okay because she would reach out if she wasn't. But he'd been lying to himself and he knew it. He'd mishandled things the day they'd returned, falling back on what he knew best and treating the situation like a military debriefing in an attempt to keep his emotion out of it. Even if Bella still saw him as a friend—and that was looking doubtful right now—his stoic and downright heavy-handed goodbye to her on the plane had hurt her feelings as well as her pride; her rejecting his offer to stay longer in town and then her dismissing him from her hotel room that night had made that pretty clear. So, if she was having trouble moving back into normalcy now, then things weren't okay with her, and that was on him. Could he get nothing right when it came to this woman?

Apparently, unrequited love made a person extra stupid.

"Sure," he finally said to Jasper. "I can do that. I'll go check on her."

"And take a shower. Otherwise, she'll smell you coming."

Edward punched him half-heartedly in the arm. "Fucker."

Jasper laughed and muttered, "I wish."

"That bad, huh?"

Jasper shook his head too quickly. "Ignore that. Sorry, I'm—yeah. Just, yeah." He pressed what Edward could see was a now-empty beer bottle to his mouth.

Right. Not his business. He was the last person who should be giving advice on relationships. He swallowed his own last mouthful of beer, not tasting it. His mind was too busy using every sense to recall exactly what Bella looked like, felt like. He'd get to refresh his memory on the first one, at least. Soon.

- 0 -

Bella had never been in Boston past May when her exams normally wrapped up at Harvard. Without fail, she'd gone home each summer, accepting the cold and wet of Forks as penance for spending the rest of the year in a place that saw the sun. She took seasonal jobs wherever she could, which had usually proved tricky. Going away to school, especially a fancy one like Harvard, had made her something of an outsider in Forks, not that she'd ever been much of an insider to begin with. So she hadn't made many workplace friends in Washington or Massachusetts, barring her work at the shelter in Boston.

With the demands of her new job she'd had to give up that volunteer position. She'd go back home to Forks eventually, she told herself, when she could. Everything was still too fresh with her issues for her to be much use to anyone else.

As it was, she knew she was still only walking through the motions of living. Knowing what kind of impact it could have on people, seeing someone suffer, she hid it well during the workday. But impersonating someone who wanted to enjoy life was exhausting work, and most days she was so tired by this exercise that she usually went home with only enough energy to eat and sleep. Even so, she was determined to overcome the damage that the whole ordeal had dealt to her confidence and her ability to fully function. Her work and the counseling helped with this, and she knew she was making progress there.

As to how she would mend her broken heart? The answers there were far murkier.

She had begun to research the questions she was struggling with on that score, even daring to ask her counselor's opinion while utilizing careful phrasing. Was it possible for two people to form a genuine love relationship so quickly during such a stressful event? How could someone know that it was real? What she'd learned so far was less than helpful. Yes, people could bond quickly in dangerous situations, but determining the authenticity of such a relationship was difficult. In most cases, one would expect the feelings to wane over time once there was physical distance between the parties.

So what did it say about Bella that the mere thought of Edward still brought her nothing but an aching heart and the feeling that a part of her was missing?

It was not all a struggle. There were little joys, small but important markers showing her there were better things ahead: talking to her Dad, witnessing Boston's summer, sleeping and dressing without surveillance—when she could convince herself that she wasn't being watched. Wearing sweatpants for dinner, eating on the couch out of a delivery container in front of a giant television. She'd never had Netflix before. It usefully supplanted her need for most outside entertainment.

Still, the stress created by the demands of her new job, settling into her new home, and trying not to think about Edward, left her both distracted and abstracted to the point that she could barely read a book, let alone sustain focus on something so complex as cooking. Her flickering attention was the product of the PTSD, she knew, and while she could function in work, it left her exhausted afterwards. Formerly a good cook, she'd either undercooked, overcooked, or burnt the majority of her meals in her new home. Take-out was becoming a much more frequent stand-in for her culinary efforts.

At the urging of her psychologist, she was forming a friendship with a fellow Halcyon employee, Birgitta, who worked down the hall in the finances department. The young woman had approached her the first week, wearing a friendly smile and offering help with navigating the daily ins and outs of working there. It was she who had convinced Bella to head out of the office for lunch today.

Now they were sitting in the sun, waiting for Birgitta's husband Simon to join them. It was lovely to feel its warmth. Bella closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation. She didn't spend much time outdoors.

"Okay, you look so peaceful, you enjoy that while I go and grab us lunch," Birgitta said.

"Oh, no—"

"Sit. I insist. You look tired."

She felt tired. "Okay, color me convinced. Sitting."

Birgitta snickered. "Good."

Work was interesting. She hadn't expected to be able to make use of her degree so soon or specifically. But even as new as she was in her Human Resources position, she had opportunities to listen to employee concerns and to assist individuals in identifying problem-solving strategies. She had already been complimented by her supervisor on what a natural she was with people, but the thing Bella liked best about her new job was that her duties had nothing to do with mobsters, Marines, or thugs, Italian or otherwise.

Think about the flowers, she instructed herself as she looked around, veering away from what could quickly become a distressing topic.

But maybe not the roses. There were a few weary-looking bushes surrounding the plaza here in the park, contained in equally decrepit planters. What would Esme's roses look like now, she wondered—or even Sulpicia's? Was it only a few months ago that Edward had pointed out the carefully trimmed bushes in his mother's garden—naming some of the species and somewhat modestly admitting his role in planting them?

As they always were, the tears were unwelcome yet easy to shed. She wiped them away quickly, but Birgitta was not fooled. She gave Bella one of those looks, the kind that told her that her new friend knew Bella was upset but that she wouldn't press too hard for the reason.

"Still broken up about that guy? Want to talk about it?"

So, maybe she wasn't so on top of reading people.

As the psychologist had instructed her, Bella had kept to the bare but truthful details in explaining her nun-like social status to Birgitta: someone had broken her heart. She'd thought he was interested, but he wasn't. She'd gotten overinvested.

"Hey babe," Simon said, walking up to the table and saving Bella from having to refuse Birgitta's offer to listen.

Bella looked away when they kissed, pretending to squint at a bird. Out of habit, her hand went to the little beetle pendant she kept hidden beneath her blouse. She wasn't even sure why she still wore it, only that it didn't feel right when she tried putting it away in a drawer.

When she looked back again, her friend and her husband were chatting amiably. Simon offered polite greetings, and he and Birgitta kept her loosely involved in their conversation. It spoke to Birgitta's character, Bella decided. She cared about people, and Bella treasured that. She'd forgotten how good it was to have friends.

After she'd managed to get through a few bites of her chicken wrap though, she felt a small and then another much stronger wave of nausea and dizziness. Excusing herself to find the nearest bathroom, she made it just in time, vomiting up everything she'd just eaten.

After cleaning up, she made her wobbly way back to her friend.

"Oh my God, you look like death warmed over. I hope it wasn't the wrap I bought you." Birgitta stood up as if she thought Bella was going to collapse. "You should go home."

Bella did not argue.

She hunkered down in bed and stayed there until Saturday morning when the doorbell rang. Groaning, she threw off the covers and struggled to get downstairs in time. The 'apartment' that had been arranged for her was a three-level townhouse smack in the middle of one of the most expensive neighborhoods in Boston. It had three bedrooms and two bathrooms and was large enough to be embarrassing to live in.

By the time Bella reached the door, whoever had rung was gone.

Well, at least it spares me the embarrassment of being seen in sweats, she thought, glancing down at her favorite pair of cut-offs, her maroon Harvard sweatshirt at odds with the Spartans logo from her Forks gym wear.

Lying on the doorstep was a rather stunning bouquet: cradled by deep green salal were dahlias, sprigs of blue sage, and tightly budded roses. She picked it up and inhaled. It smelled heavenly. After a weekend being repulsed by most food-related odors, she enjoyed the novelty of one that pleased, instead.

A small, hand-written card was tucked into the blooms. "Hope you feel better soon," it read. There was no name.

When she called Birgitta to thank her, she was somewhat stymied when her friend denied sending the bouquet.

"Someone from the office must have sent it," Bella mumbled into the phone, her stomach suddenly icy with fear.

"I guess so? I mean it wasn't like it was top-secret that you were sick."

Wrapping up her call, Bella hung up the phone, trying not to fall into the pit of paranoia that was always waiting for her. If Aro wanted her dead, he wouldn't be sending flowers.

No, poison would be more his style.

She shook her head, determined not to make herself feel even worse by worrying, and she forced herself to set the flowers in a large water pitcher she found in the kitchen.

On Sunday she ventured out only to walk to the nearby store to buy some applesauce and bananas. Without any schedule constraining her, she dropped her few purchases at home and decided to go for a longer walk.

"If you'd been poisoned, you couldn't do this," she muttered to herself.

Even so, she had to reassure herself several times, pausing to turn and visually sweep her surroundings for would-be assailants. No one there, she told herself. It's only the after-effects of trauma. Her assurance did little to quell the feeling that someone was watching or following her.

"Stupid," she muttered to herself and kept walking, making a large circle around her neighborhood. As she walked past the strand of quaint shops that peppered the area, she noticed the opening to a small alley. It wasn't that alley, but it was one much like it.

"Small steps," she said, repeating her counselor's advice aloud before drawing a deep breath. She'd been working on conquering her fears bit by bit. It was broad daylight. The chances of being bothered in an alley were minuscule. Still, she paused, peering in and listening, catching only the hum of buzzing air conditioners. She put one foot inside the narrow opening, closing her eyes and calming herself. Nothing bad was going to happen to her.

Then she made herself look and listen again before walking purposefully through the alley.

As her logical mind had predicted, nothing happened.

"See," she muttered, "you can do this."

"How about I do you, honey?" a man asked, lounging against a door. She glanced over and tensed. But his posture wasn't threatening. He was simply being a jerk. A jerk outside a bar, she noted, seeing the sign. Rolling her eyes, she crossed the street and kept walking, pointing herself homeward.

A few blocks away she turned around suddenly. Again, no one was following her. "Being paranoid," she scolded herself, but she could have sworn she'd heard footsteps. She paused, looking around her.

A car drove by. A mother pushed her stroller down the sidewalk. Nothing.

"Par-a-noi-a," she sang to herself and then walked home. And if you keep talking to yourself, you'll get to be the crazy lady that lives alone with 300 cats.

On Sunday evening, she ordered steamed rice and broccoli from the Chinese food restaurant nearby, but once she'd eaten some, the nausea and vomiting returned with a vengeance. She spent most of the night in the bathroom. On Monday morning, she was still there and called in sick to work. In the early evening, feeling weak and disoriented, she didn't hear the pounding at the door, but she did hear the male voices and feel the hands that restrained her. Her attempts to fight them off were futile as they carried her away.

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