Beta- StacyO72- If she had to grub up, she'd do it at a WaWa.

Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. No copyright infringement is

intended.

A/N Here are the answers to a few questions that were asked: Bella, Edward, Alice, Mike, Jessica, Angela, Ben, and Eric are all 21. Those in school are between their junior/senior years of college/university. Carlisle and Charlie are both 41. Jake is 19. Rose is 22. Emmett and Jasper are mid-twenties. Edward has his reasons for being called Ted, you'll find out but not in this chapter. Ted is a nickname for Theodore or Edward, but it can be a nickname regardless of first name.

Ch. 5 Grubbing Up

The worst part of Friday mornings was that I had to drag my ass into work without the aid of real Dunkin' Donuts coffee. Even though Charlie treated me by buying their ridiculously expensive brand to make at home, it just wasn't the same. I swear they must put crack in the stuff they make at their shops, because nothing could compare. During the school year, I could get a few hours' sleep, go to class all day, work afterwards, then go home to study 'til after midnight and repeat the whole process again thanks to DD. My New Jersey roommate tried to convert me to Starbucks but I'm a New Englander through and through and there was no way some fancy Seattle chain was going to replace Dunkin' for me.

Jasper had shown up around nine a.m., grabbed the Suburban and headed over to Galilee, the nearest port on the mainland, for the parts they needed. Mr. Newton wouldn't let Jasper drive without a license, so Emmett had to go with him. They were both hung-over and bickered even worse than they had the previous day. Still, I was able to have a civil enough conversation to find out Jasper was the boat's engineer while Emmett was the mate and the greenie, Ted, was the cook. As Emmett had put it, that's one thing he can't fuck up. Like many transit deckhands, Jasper didn't have any form of identification: no license, no credit cards. There was nothing to prove he was really Jasper Whitlock. It wasn't that unusual. Fishing crews weren't employees, they were independent contractors. No taxes were withheld from their paychecks. They were expected to put some money aside after each trip, then pay when they filed their returns. Most of the time, the commercial fishermen with homes and families did, but sea gypsies didn't bother. As contractors, they didn't need to provide us with proof of citizenship or residency like an employee would. By the time the I.R.S. notified a boat owner that the crewmember's social security number didn't match his name, the deckhand had long since moved on. It took years before the tax agents caught up to them, if they ever did. The old saying about death and taxes didn't necessarily apply in the commercial fishing world. Here, death was far more of a certainty than taxes.

"Bella, check it out!" Mike called as he followed his dad into the office from the plant floor. Mr. Newton was carrying a hunk of tuna about the size of my clunky old computer monitor; no, I didn't have a flat screen. My mouth immediately began to water at the sight. One side of the deep ruby tuna flesh was straight and smooth from where it had been sliced away from the rest of the fish. The other side was the familiar concave half-moon shape of a shark bite. I beamed. Sharks used their amazing sense of smell to find and attack only the best quality tuna: sushi grade number one.

"Looks like we're having sushi for lunch." I remarked.

"Big-eye toro." Like my dad, Mr. Newton was a man of few words, but I knew he was pleased. A Big-eye tuna was a better sushi tuna than the more common Yellowfin or Ahi, as it was popularly known. Toro was the fatty belly meat, the best part of the fish. Our customers couldn't buy a fish with a visible bite. Health inspectors tend to frown upon restaurants selling a fish with a hunk of flesh roughly bitten from its body. Newton's carved up those fish into chunks that were sold separately. We kept the piece surrounding the damaged area. Mr. Newton would expertly trim the sweet cranberry colored flesh into bite-sized sashimi, mix some wasabi and soy sauce together and everyone at Newton's would swarm around the little galley kitchen like bluefish during a feeding frenzy. You couldn't get fresher, better sushi unless you were on board when the fish was caught. It was truly divine: manna from heaven. I tried to focus on my work and not the sounds coming from the galley but I was suddenly famished. The plant door opened again, distracting me momentarily. I watched as Doc and the greenie Ted walked towards my desk. Doc had a gleam in his eye that immediately made me wary. Ted didn't look at me. He seemed mostly interested in a spot on the floor. I was kind of glad, it was overwhelming enough having to look Doc in the eye, facing two gorgeous men at the same time would have left me tongue-tied.

"Bella, it's so nice to see you again." Doc began smoothly, laying on that infamous Cullen charm.

"You too, Doc. Is there something I can do for you?" I had a bad feeling I knew what it was.

"I think we're o.k., still trying to get out of here by tomorrow morning. Say, you don't have another truck we could borrow? Ted needs to go grub shopping and it sounds like Emmett and Jasper won't be back in time for him to wait for them."

And there it was. They needed groceries and there was no way they could get that much food and other essentials without a truck. Actually, this wasn't as bad as I thought. I offered Doc my pick-up. I wouldn't need it, plus that way all four of the Vampress crew would be out of my hair for the entire afternoon. I hated babysitting out-of-state crews.

"That's really very generous of you, Bella. Are you sure it's not too much of an imposition?" Doc gave me that megawatt smile and I suddenly felt very warm. Yes, it was definitely hot in the office.

"No really, it's no problem. I don't need it for any other reason this afternoon. I'll just run home and drive it over, that way you'll be able to catch the next ferry." I quickly explained that the supermarket was on the mainland, as I wrote out the directions. "It's only a five-minute drive from the ferry dock."

"You've been very gracious about us. Still, this is your personal vehicle. Of course, we'll cover the gas but I'd like to do something else. Do you like sword?"

Doc generously arranged for me to take home a nice piece of sword, enough to get several thick steaks. Charlie loved swordfish. I quickly drove my bike home and exchanged it for Trusty Rusty, my old Chevy pick-up. The truck had once been red. Year round exposure to the salted sea air meant vehicles had a hard life on the island. Still, if you didn't mind the appearance, the truck ran great. When I got back, Doc was gone. I spotted Ted slouched down in one of the chairs in front of Mr. Newton's desk. His long legs, encased in tight dark denim jeans spread out before him. Out of nowhere, an image of me straddling those legs entered my mind. Shit, what was I thinking? I needed to clear my head. I went into the galley and grabbed a plate of sushi, which was already half gone.

"You bastards better not have taken all the wasabi." I jokingly yelled out to our guys through the open plant door.

It was a well-known fact that I was addicted to the stuff. What can I say? I like having clear sinuses. Someone laughed and I looked up to see Eric chucking me the bird. I joked around with the guys before returning to my desk with my lunch. I eagerly dipped a piece of toro in soy sauce, smeared it with a large chunk of wasabi, my mouth salivating in anticipation. When I finally bit into the tender flesh, I couldn't help but close my eyes in bliss and moan with joy. I tried my best to not sound like I was having an orgasm in the middle of the office. Damn, sushi was almost better than sex. In fact, in my limited experience, I would say it was definitely better than at least one occasion.

I was startled to hear a throat clear and opened my eyes to see Ted had moved. He was standing directly in front of my desk, staring at me intently. I hadn't realized how tall he was until this moment. He leaned forward into my personal space, his soft sea-glass green eyes mesmerizing me. My own widened and teared up as the wasabi hit my sinuses hard. I took a deep breath. I had to clear my throat in order to speak.

"Oh crap, Ted. I'm sorry! I didn't even think that you were waiting for the keys. I just assumed Doc went somewhere and he'd get them when he came back. They're already in the ignition."

Ted suddenly looked embarrassed. At first, I thought it was from witnessing my food O but then his hand wrapped around the back of his neck as he took a step back. He glanced down and shuffled his feet. "Um, Carlisle said that you were taking me to the supermarket. He already left. I don't know where he went, but he said that you'd drive me? I don't have ID so I can't go by myself. "

"What?" I closed my eyes as I felt the anger surge through me, heating my cheeks.

"He said…." Ted nervously ran his hand up through his hair as he began to speak. I interrupted.

"I HEARD you!"

"Sorry, I kind of thought Carlisle was misleading you earlier. I should have said something." His voice was soft and calm compared to mine.

I nodded. I knew I was mostly angry at myself for being such a stupid fangirl and not realizing Doc was setting me up. Thinking back over our earlier conversation, I saw how obvious it was. He never once confirmed that he would be driving the truck. Instead, he dazzled me with his looks and bribed me with a chunk of sword and now I was stuck. I felt like such a fool. I sheepishly offered Ted an apology for snapping at him. I just hated being manipulated. I always tried to be straightforward and expected the same in return.

We had already missed the next ferry but since it was Friday, they ran every thirty minutes so we wouldn't have too long to wait. I got Ted a plate of sushi from the kitchen as a peace-offering for my rude behavior. He looked at it apprehensively before finally picking up his fork and eating a small piece. He gave me a small half-smile as he finished chewing and began preparing the next sashimi. Damn, what a beautiful man.

"For a minute, I thought you didn't like sushi." I joked.

He looked a bit awkward. "Well, I've never had it like this. I'm used to the pretty little rolls with the rice and seaweed. You can barely tell there's raw fish in those. I thought maybe a big piece would make me gag but then again, you seemed to really enjoy yourself when you were eating it. Either that or maybe you don't have a gag reflex."

My head shot up. His eyes widened and I knew it had nothing to do with the wasabi this time. Neither of us spoke for a long moment, an incorporeal testing of limits and wills occurring. Ted cracked first, a smirk playing at his lips as a dimple appeared on one side. His eyes twinkled with mischief.

"I swear, I didn't mean that the way it sounded." Then he giggled, actually giggled like a naughty Victorian schoolboy who'd gotten caught dipping a girl's hair in the inkwell.

His mood was infectious. "That's right. What would a wirgin know about a gag reflex?" I teased, raising an eyebrow in defiance.

Ted immediately shifted from being lighthearted to somber. "Jasper and Emmett were so trashed. I know I probably looked like an asshole but I just couldn't deal with them. It's already bad enough being the new guy. I swear hell week for my fraternity was easier than this."

"You're in a frat—ernity?" I blurted out. I couldn't disguise the surprise in my voice. What the hell was a midwestern college kid doing on an offshore longliner? I could think of a million better summer jobs, although probably few paid better.

"Uh, yeah. I'd guess from the way you answered you're in a soro-ri-ty?" He countered, dragging out the word the way I had.

"No, it's not really my scene. My old roommate is in one. I go to U.R.I., the University of Rhode Island. There's a pretty big Greek presence on campus. I've already learned 'Would you call your mother a moth?'…"

"Would you call your country a – well you know." He smiled that same half smirk and even blushed a little before he stood up.

I finished the sentence "so don't call your fraternity a frat." as I watched him walked into the galley to dispose of the now empty plate. I suddenly imagined slipping my hands into his back pockets and squeezing that perfect ass. Jeez, what the hell was wrong with me? You'd think I hadn't gotten laid in months. O.k. well, I hadn't. I shook my head slightly. I needed to focus.

As Ted and I walked outside to the truck, I noticed the large, baggy t-shirt he was wearing. I took one look at the white Celtic lettering over the solid black fabric and had to ask.

"Is that your shirt?"

Ted look down, his hand smoothing the fabric over his chest. "No, actually, I didn't have anything clean so I borrowed it from Emmett. It was the only one I could find that wasn't offensive in some way."

I smirked as I climbed in the truck and started her up. My suspicions were confirmed. "Are you sure about that?"

"Well, I asked and Emmett said it meant Kiss me, I'm Irish." Ted replied as he shut his door.

I laughed. "Well, he didn't lie about the first word. Pog Mo Thoin means kiss my ass in Gaelic."

Ted sighed and chuckled wryly "Honestly, that really isn't bad considering the other shirts I saw. Plus, how many people will really know what it means?"

I smiled as I tried to keep the sarcasm out of my voice. "You're right. I'd say there are only maybe a hundred Irish student workers on the island right now."

After a short drive over to the ferry, we parked on the car deck and made our way up top. The morning fog had burned off, leaving a view of flat calm water and an almost cloudless sky. We stood on deck watching the sea gulls hover above the draggers offloading at Newton's as the ferry pulled away from the dock. Just beyond the piers, the Victorian era hotels, with their wood facades and wrap-around porches, clustered on the slight hill that rose from the shore. My heart soared with love for my little island.

"Beautiful."

I glanced up at Ted, who held my gaze before jutting that gorgeous jawline in the direction of the island. For one second, I felt butterflies in my stomach, awakened by the hope that maybe he meant more than the island. I swallowed back the thought. I was being ridiculous. He wasn't interested in me and even if he was, I certainly didn't want to get involved with some drifter, even a stunningly handsome drifter.

"It's a special place." I finally said, realizing I had zoned out and he was still expecting a response.

Ted leaned against the rail, craning his neck to look as the island faded into the distance. "It's hard for me to believe it's real. I thought towns like this didn't exist. It feels as though we're in one of those Disney World resorts or a scene from the Truman Show. It's an entirely different world; reminiscent of another time. I can't imagine growing up someplace so safe and insulated."

He might not be able to imagine it, but I had lived it, so for the next hour as the ferry made its way to the mainland, I recounted everything I could about what it was like to live in the smallest town in the United States: the people, the school, the businesses; every aspect of island life. Ted wasn't like any longliner deckhand I had ever met. Most of those guys wouldn't want anything to do with this ordinary Mayberry- by -the -sea existence. Ted seemed to yearn for it.

"No one locks their doors and everyone leaves their car keys in the ignition?" He asked as we headed back below. I nodded.

"Maybe it's easier this way instead of believing that locks and alarms can protect you only to find out the safety they provide is an illusion." Ted looked as though he was weighed down by an invisible albatross as we returned to the truck. We exited the ferry and I made at quick stop at Dunkin' Donuts for a large iced coffee before leaving the port. I wanted to ask him what he meant when his cell phone rang, startling us. He quickly removed an unsophisticated looking device from his front jean pocket and answered. After a short conversation, he hung up and turned to me just as I pulled up to the light on Route 108.

"That was Carlisle. I need to buy enough food for five. We can't leave until

Sunday. It looks like we're taking an observer on this trip and he's not arriving until then."

I nodded. I knew there'd be some reason they'd end up staying in port for Saturday night.

"Uh, Bella?" I glanced at Ted He looked uncertain and I knew what he was wondering.

"You want to know what an observer does?" It was his turn to nod. I continued. "They're scientists who collect data for the National Marine Fisheries Service. They could be gathering bycatch information or tagging fish for research, there are a number of different objectives. Regardless, vessels are required to take observers every so often so Doc doesn't have a choice. It's like winning the lottery or being drafted."

"So the government forces vessels to take observers with them and expects us to work around these people?"

"Forced is a strong word. Vessels in certain fisheries know they must take observers in order to participate. The observers all have at least a bachelor's degree in science and they've undergone training courses that includes vessel safety, CPR and first aid, and ocean survival." I give him a pointed look. "Did you do any of that before your first trip?"

He rolled his eyes.

"They probably know more about longlining than you do. You might want to try to stay out of their way."

He huffed and crossed his arms, but didn't say anything. The petulant look on his face was enough. I tried not to laugh or think about how fuck hot he looked at the moment. I had a weakness for broody emo boys. I think I got it from my mom. She had a thing for Morrissey when she was my age and I totally understood the appeal. Yet somehow, she ended up with Charlie. The only eighties singer he resembled was John Oates, who was about as opposite as one could get from The Smiths' former frontman. It was mind-boggling. Ted and I spent the next few minutes discussing the list and devising a strategy for shopping. By the time I pulled into the lot and parked, we had a pretty good idea of how to proceed. We each grabbed three shopping carts, keeping them one inside the other and went first to the milk aisle, filling up one cart entirely with gallons of milk. Ted then wheeled it to a closed checkout at the front while I filled another cart with juice and eggs. We worked in tandem, filling carts with enough essentials to last five adults at sea for approximately four weeks, then lined them up at the checkout. We were in the beverage aisle when Ted looked around confused.

"What do you need?"

"Beer."

I groaned. "This is Rhode Island. You can't buy alcohol at the supermarket. There's a liquor store nearby." Suddenly, something occurred to me.

"Wait, how do you expect to buy alcohol without i.d.?"

"I don't. I figured we would use yours."

"How do you know I'm old enough?"

"You're a college student; you must have an i.d."

"I'm also the daughter of the island's police chief!"

"So, it's a good fake i.d."

"It's not fake. I'm legal."

"Even better. We're all set." He waggled his eyebrows and gave me a shit eating grin and I forgot why I was irritated with him. Ted took a step closer to me, blocking everything else from my line of vision. My breath hitched and the butterflies returned as he hovered over me. All I could focus on was his mouth, with its soft full lip as he leaned in closer. He reached behind me and began grabbing two liter bottles of soda. I realized then he wasn't even looking at me. I cleared my throat and shook my head slightly.

We finished up and went back to the checkout where our carts were neatly lined up. Ted started heading to the service counter.

"Where are you going?"

"To get cigarettes, why do I have to buy those at a different store too?"

"Actually, yes. Didn't Doc tell you to ask me about getting them?"

Ted scratched his head, confused. "Uh, well. He said you would know where to get them but I didn't think about it."

"Fishermen can buy cigarettes tax-free. The catch is you're only supposed to smoke them offshore. I'll call the cigarette guy when we finish out."

"There's a cigarette guy?"

"Yep, Alistair. His whole business is selling cigarettes to fishermen. He has to report everything to the government so don't think about buying more and trying to sell them for a profit. Boats are only allowed so many cartons per man."

The grocery bill was over four thousand dollars. I slid the corporate card through, knowing that Volterra would send us a check as soon as I faxed them the receipt. By the time we finished the packing the grub in the pick-up and getting the beer, it was time to meet Alistair. He was a good guy, even if he was a little paranoid about his cigarette inventories. I couldn't blame him. His stocks were closely monitored to make sure no one was taking advantage of the odd little law that allowed offshore fishermen to pay less than half of what everyone else did for cigarettes. We collected the cartons and headed to the Port of Galilee. I would get back just on time to get ready for my shift at the Wolf. I automatically stopped at another Dunkin and we both got iced coffees. I spent the rest of the drive trying to keep my eyes on the road and not to notice the way his lips looked as he sucked on his straw.

We were about halfway back to the ferry when Ted asked "Do you always drive like this? "

"What do you mean?"

"Well, even though you are driving the speed limit, you really like to hit those pedals hard."

"No I don't."

"Yes, you do." He emphasized each word.

"You know this is a truck, it's not going to be a perfectly smooth ride."

"I realize that but it also shouldn't feel like the Vampress in a ten foot swell."

I huffed. "While this truck happens to be a classic, it doesn't have the acceleration capabilities of a modern vehicle. If I didn't hit the gas, it wouldn't move."

He muttered something.

"What?"

"I said I've never seen a slow driver with a lead foot. It's an oxymoron."

"Oxymoron? And I'm not a slow driver. I am obeying the speed limit, like the daughter of the chief of police should."

"Yes, an oxymoron, a phrase in which words of contradictory meaning are used together for special effect…"

"I KNOW what it means! Listen, if you don't like the way I drive, then maybe you should get a license yourself."

"Sure, point me to the gumball machine where you got yours and I'll do it right now."

"I happen to have a perfect driving record. You on the other hand, don't even drive."

"I can drive and I did have a license. I just lost it and it's kind of hard to get a new one when you're half way across the country."

"How inconvenient!"

"It really is!"

"Then maybe you shouldn't have left home without getting it replaced first."

We turned onto the Escape Road and I hit the gas just because I could. As the truck lurched forward I thought I heard Ted mutter something about not having a home anymore but when I asked he just replied "Nothing."

A/N So we learn a little more about Ted. I'm curious to know what you all think of him. Chapter 6 should be ready for next Friday, If it's not, StacyO72 will go all Jersey girl on me. Whenever I can, I will post teasers on Mondays on Fictionators and Wednesdays on Ficcentral. If anyone has another site they like, please let me know. I added a link to an aerial picture of the Port of Galilee and the Escape Road on my profile. RI Trivia- the Galilee Escape Road was built after Hurricane Carol in the 1950's to provide another way to get out of the port. I am getting embarrassingly addicted to reviews so please leave me your comments. It's embarrassing because I'm guilty of hardly ever reviewing the stories I read. I think I need to go back and change that. I still owe a few replies from the last chapter, but I will answer them all.