A/N: Oh. You want the deets?

Okay. You got it.

Edward lived in a small apartment. It was a basic space filled with basic things—whatever he'd grudgingly managed to accumulate when his psyche had finally been convinced he was going to survive the decimation of his world after all. Not much piqued his interest, so the walls were bare, the furnishings sparse.

One thing he did like about his little apartment was the window. It had been the one and only selling point. The living room window, however improbable, had a window seat. It was one of the few joys in Edward's life to sit there at that seat, staring out at his peaceful neighborhood.

He found no pleasure out his window now. Again, the view outside matched his inner turmoil. There was a violence to the blackness. The storm was tumultuous—pouring rain, gale force winds, lightning streaked across the sky, and thunder boomed. Flash floods had already wrought damage. Blackouts affected thirty percent of the city.

Edward's own lights flickered, but he hardly noticed. It would only serve him right to be left sitting in darkness. What a fitting, if melodramatic, scene that would be.

The act of breathing hurt.

Staring out at the storm, he let himself sift through images of the day. He'd been simultaneously wanting to see for himself that Bella was better off without him and dreading the cold truth of the fact. He'd expected her to look golden—color and vibrancy to his slack pallor.

The memory of her, drawn and small as she stared out the window of the conference room while their marriage was dismantled, rankled. She was thinner than she had been, her features all the more delicate.

And still so heartrendingly beautiful. The most beautiful thing in his world.

He'd helped her today—held her hand and kept the panic at bay. It had been so long, and he'd never expected he'd be in a position to be a good thing in her life, however minutely.

But then, she wouldn't have been in that elevator if not for him. He closed his eyes. Thunder and pounding rain narrated the images that played behind his lids, the visceral memory of her hand in his.

A knock at the door drew him back to the present. He furrowed his brow, looking toward the closed door. A neighbor, maybe? Half the city was scrambling for provisions as if a harsh storm was, in fact, the apocalypse.

Though, really, who was he to judge the dramatics of others?

Edward rose and went to the door. When he opened it, all the breath left him.

Standing outside on the stoop, pummeled by torrential rain, was not a neighbor, but Bella. He stared at her and blinked once before common sense kicked in.

"What the hell are you doing out there?" Edward growled before he could think his words through. The storm was downright dangerous now, and she was standing outside with no protection but a rain jacket? "Are you out of your mind?" He huffed and grabbed her hand, pulling her over the threshold and into his apartment.

She yanked her hand from his and took two huge steps away from him. "Am I out of my mind? Yes, I'm completely out of my mind for being here. And you don't get to talk to me that way. I wouldn't be here if you didn't make me so fucking crazy." She said the last words through clenched teeth. Her whole body vibrated, trying to contain the shivers that were quickly overtaking her.

"No," Edward said, calm now. "No. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped at you. You just…" He shook his head. "Bella, you're freezing."

"Chyeah." She wrapped her arms around herself. "This place was hard to find. And tiny." She glanced around.

Edward stared around the space himself, rubbing the back of his neck as he tried to get his bearings. He'd never dared to imagine Bella there in his lonely space. And, as long as she'd known him, he'd always lived in spacious homes. He could afford it and, in the past, had enjoyed the luxury of roominess.

"I stopped using my inheritance after you left. And I lost my job. I had to start from the bottom, in a new one." He rolled his shoulders, ashamed even to hint at what a wreck he'd been; that he still was.

Having her there when he wanted…

Well. What he wanted most, as she stood there shivering like a soaked, bedraggled cat, was for her to be warm.

"Can I get you out of those clothes?"

Her head snapped up.

He held a hand out. "No! I mean. Not like that. Of course, I…" He closed his eyes and shook his head hard, trying not to be so discombobulated. "I mean, you're soaked. Let me put your clothes in the dryer. Wear whatever you want of mine. I want to help. I want to help—"

You, he almost said.

But he knew better than to finish that sentence, because he hadn't. That was how they'd ended up there—him in that tiny apartment without her in his life.

"Please, Bella." He offered the barest, most tentative smile. "Whatever you're here for, you can't yell at me if you can't speak from shivering."

She ducked her head, chafing her shoulders. The gesture was useless. Her jacket was soaked.

"Okay," she whispered, sounding tired.

He led the way down the short hallway, grabbing a towel from the bathroom before gesturing to his bedroom door. "Throw your clothes out, and I'll start the dryer."

It was surreal to have her there. For all these years, every day Edward wallowed in the memory of her, counting every facet of what he'd lost. She kept the door mostly closed as she handed him her sopping clothes, and he tried not to think about her body, soft beneath his fingertips.

The washer and dryer were in a recess in the hallway, so when he started the dryer and turned around, she was there. She'd cinched a pair of his pajama pants tight around her waist and she wore one of his plain, green hoodies. She wrapped her arms around herself, looking at the blank walls instead of him.

The sight of her in his clothes again…

He looked away.

Shoving his hands deep in his pockets lest he give in to the urge to reach out to her, Edward gestured with a nod to the living room. She settled on the couch.

"I'm going to put the coffee on," he murmured, moving into the kitchen. He was focused on getting her warm again. That, he could do.

Or so he thought.

Just as the coffee began to percolate, thunder clapped. The lights flickered and went out. The apartment was plunged into the kind of unnatural silence only a power outage could bring—the absence of white noise.

Was fate such a bitter, vengeful harpy as not to let Edward take care of Bella even in this ever so minor way? He wanted her to be warm. If that was all he could ever do for her for the rest of their lives, he wanted to do it right.

He improvised, making his way to the living room by the light from the storm and his cell phone's flashlight feature.

In the living room, Bella pushed herself into the farthest corner of the couch, legs drawn up, and arms resting loosely. She too had flipped her phone's flashlight on. It sat on the coffee table, pointed upward.

"This is the best I can do without electricity. I'm sorry." Edward set a bottle of whiskey and two shot glasses down in front of Bella. He poured both the shots, but left hers on the table while he retreated with his back to the window seat.

"I'm not trying to push you if you're uncomfortable," Edward said a moment later when she still just stared at the drink. "It's an old school remedy. You know. Like in westerns or… Little House on the Prairie type books. Or…" He swallowed hard, realizing he was prattling. "Anyway. It should help. That's all."

She picked up the shot, but set it down a moment later without drinking it, and put a hand over her eyes. Another second passed, and he realized, as her shoulders shook, that she was crying.

Horror spread, churning in his belly. "Bella. I didn't mean… If I upset you…"

"You didn't…" She took a deep breath, controlling herself again. "You're just so…you. The you I thought I married, who actually wanted to take care of me." She laughed bitterly. "We're divorced now, mostly. You don't have to pretend anymore."

"Pretend?"

"It was a dumbass thing to do… to come here in the middle of a storm—this storm. The worst storm. Stupid Bella at it again." She picked at nothing on her knee. "Having to be rescued again because she was dumb enough to go out in the flooding rain to chase after you. I bet you're thinking you were right; all I've ever been is a burden to you.

"That was a lie. The biggest lie. The worst lie." He ran his hands over his face, desperate to go to her and knowing he had no right. "Those things I said…"

For a moment, he couldn't speak. The revulsion he felt at the words he'd spoken, at himself for saying such vulgar lies out loud, had bile rising in his throat. He thought he might throw up, especially hearing her repeat those words as if they might be true.

He had always known she feared she was a burden. That day, half out of his mind and wrapped up in madness, he'd said the words. That her fear, the fear he'd spent so much time trying to ease in her, was true. She really was a burden. Everyone in her life thought so.

Her mother had never bothered, he'd said. That was why Bella grew up as more of the adult in that relationship. Bella was a weight around her mother's ankle.

And when she was finally shipped off to her father? Her father who spent every weekend with the fishes and every evening with his paperwork rather than with her?

Edward had told her that he had only asked her out on a dare from his brother—true. And only stayed with her because he felt sorry for her—so, so, so false.

He had told her marrying her was a mistake and the source of all the stress in his life. That she was a piss-poor excuse for a spouse. Hadn't he had to bail her out of a bad business decision? Where would she be if not for his help?

He had knowingly and purposefully violated the sanctity of their love. Surrendering to love always came with vulnerability. He knew all the deepest ways he could hurt her, because he loved her, and she'd trusted him with every weak spot in her armor.

That awful night, he'd stabbed a knife into each and every one of her insecurities and twisted, twisted, twisted.

Edward swallowed hard and tried again. "What I said to you that day was—"

"Evil," Bella said flatly.

His shoulders slumped. "Yes."

"Because if it was a lie, if you lied to me specifically to hurt me, that's evil."

He nodded. "Yes," he whispered, wishing the shame that weighed so heavily on him would squash him flat.

She cocked her head. "Which is ironic in a lot of ways. A lot of marriages end because someone lied thinking the lie would protect the other person."

He blinked and had to choke back a laugh. Her quick, dark wit. He'd missed that, missed her, so much.

"I keep wondering if it would have hurt less if you cheated," she murmured, as if to herself. "That's everyone's end all, be all. 'He didn't cheat.' That's what people tell me. But it's like… it's not about me, is it? If you'd have cheated, it wouldn't have been about me. Those things you said… that was all about me."

"No," he said, the word soft and sorrowful. "No, Bella. They were lies."

"Lies designed to hurt me. Me specifically." She put her hands over her eyes, digging the heels of her palms in hard. "Why?" she asked, her voice a whisper. "Why did you want to hurt me like that?"

He stared at his hands, took a deep breath, and told her everything.

His problems went beyond the death of his parents. Really, with all his neurosis, he'd been one disaster away from breaking for a long time.

He hadn't been lying when he'd told her he put the work in after she left. Intensive therapy. He'd been hospitalized at his own request, and had spent months peeling back every layer of his soul. He spoke haltingly of the long, difficult process, every diagnosis he'd received, and the depth of the depression he'd been plunged into.

"My parents' deaths set off a domino effect, and I couldn't cope with anything," he said, still staring at his hands.

"I knew you were hurting," Bella said, her voice thin. "I would have done anything to help you."

His eyes watered, and he closed his eyes. She was so beautiful. So very good.

With a shuddering breath, he forced himself to raise his head. To look her in the eyes seemed almost blasphemous at that moment, even in the near darkness, but she deserved his total honesty. He could give her the respect of facing her.

"The way you loved me… It hurt, Bella. It just hurt," he said. "I can't explain how it felt. Your love was so pure, and I was so wrong. Like a demon stepping on holy ground; it just burned." Unable to stand the pity and pain in her wide, brown eyes, he looked down at his hands again. "I needed you to hate me as much as I hated myself."

Silence fell, beating on his shoulders and his heart like the rain pounding on the windows outside.

Then, she whispered, "Oh, God. What have I done?"

His head snapped up. "What? What have you done? Bella—"

"In sickness and in health," she said, fist clenched against her chest. "That's the vow. In sickness and in health. You were sick, and I ran away."

He shook his head, bile rising to his throat. "No. No. No. That's not…" He shook his head vehemently, fingers digging into his jeans to keep himself from going to her, from pulling her into his arms and maybe shaking her a little. "What I said to you? What I did? That was abuse. There's no excuse for it. You don't have to put up with abuse because I was sick. That's not how that works. You don't set yourself on fire to keep me warm."

She lifted her head, looking him in the eyes. "You still think you can tell me what to do?"

He opened his mouth and quickly shut it again. They both stared at each other, tension in the air. Edward couldn't tell if it was good or bad tension, though. His skin felt electric.

She shivered violently, breaking their stare-off first as she chafed her shoulders.

"I would set myself on fire to keep you warm," he said with a small laugh. "If I thought it would make you feel better."

"I think seeing someone burn to death would probably be just adding more trauma to the pile."

"Well, that's me, isn't it? Prone to self-important, dramatic acts?"

"Wow. You really did unpack everything in therapy, didn't you?"

The barest smile touched his lips. "I really did."

She nodded, wiping at her eyes. "Did it work?"

"Therapy?"

"No." She picked up the whiskey shot, contemplating it before setting it down yet again. "You said, me loving you hurt. So, when I was gone, was that better?"

"God, no." The words came out breathless but vehement. "It was…agony. An entirely new kind of pain." He swallowed hard, eyes unfocused as he tried to find the right words. "It was… There was some relief."

She sucked in a sharp breath.

He held his hand out in a pleading motion. "Only in that there was some solace. That you were beyond my reach, meant I couldn't hurt you anymore. You weren't burning at the stake with me. That was some light in my world. If I wasn't dragging you down into all my darkness, I could imagine you would be happy."

"I wasn't happy," she snapped, the words rough. She shook her head, clenching and unclenching her fists against her knee. "How could you think… Never in a million years could I have believed you would hurt me like that. Not you. You turned my whole world upside down. You were my constant, and to know you thought those things about me…"

"Bella. I didn't. I didn't. I—"

"For fuck's sake. Shut. Up. I'm talking."

He clamped his mouth shut.

When seconds went by in silence, she spoke again. "You obliterated everything I knew about the world. I'd lost a mother and father too. I know it's not the same, but I loved them. Then to lose my brothers and sisters…all the family I had built all at once?"

He opened his mouth and shut it almost as quickly.

His family adored her. They'd mourned her loss, and would have welcomed her back in any capacity she chose.

But she'd already told him; if she couldn't trust the bond they shared, how could she trust any other relationship? She'd already told him it took all her strength to leave. She'd needed a clean break—away from even his family. She was speaking her truth, and she didn't need to be chastised by him.

"I even lost my living. I gave a lot to your company, to our family's business. God." She covered her face with her hands and shook her head back and forth.

She removed her hands and looked across the darkened room. He couldn't really see her, but the hurt that must have been written on her face was audible in her voice. "I've been working my ass off to be happy. And I'll get there. Myself. Not because you pushed me away for my own good. You doing that to me meant I had to claw my way out of the damn pit you left me in. You broke me, you asshole. You made me fix myself before I could even contemplate being happy. You lit my stake on fire yourself."

He couldn't breathe. The air was too thick, choking him. He swallowed hard once. Again. He closed his eyes.

He wouldn't cry. He wouldn't make her deal with that.

When he thought he could breathe again, that his tears were locked and chained away, he stood on shaking legs. He crossed the space to her and kneeled before her, looking up at her. "For the rest of my life, what I said to you will always be my biggest regret. I'm so sorry, Bella."

She took a shaky breath, looking to the side, her face illuminated by the cell phone light. Another breath. She sniffed and looked not at him, but forward. "You were sick," she whispered.

"That doesn't make the trauma I inflicted on you any better."

"No. But…Does it mean you weren't lying every other time?"

"That night was the only night I ever lied to you. Everything else about us, about how I feel about you, is real."

She closed her eyes, wrapping her arms around herself. After a moment, she shivered. Then, she shook.

"Bella? Can I… can I hold you? For warmth?"

Her breath stuttered.

"I'm sorry." He started to stand, cursing himself. What right did he have to push, even for altruistic purposes?

"No." She grabbed his hand before he could step away.

Outside the thunder rumbled. The wind howled.

Bella sighed and stood. Her hand holding his so lightly, she stepped forward—slow, careful steps until they were by the window. She spayed a hand across his chest and pushed him gently so he sat back in the small window seat. Wondering if he was reading her right, he stretched one leg across the back of the seat, nearest to the window, wedging himself against the corner. He opened his arms.

She sat. And snuggled, tucking herself under his chin.

He hissed when she shoved her freezing hands up his sleeves.

"It's better than fire," she said.

He closed his eyes, inhaling her scent, memorizing this miracle, the feel of her in his arms, for as long as he could have it.