Dress shopping proved to be a bit harder than I thought, and yet easier too. Angela had a very limited selection with how tall she was, unless she wanted something so short it bordered on indecent. Jess had to pull every dress she didn't immediately hate from the racks, but at least she got it wheedled down fairly well before she actually started trying them on. For me, it just took a lot of looking. Finally, after over an hour of looking, I found it. It was a full length, nearly backless, royal blue dress. It didn't look like much on the rack, but when I put it on, it draped perfectly, loose where it should be loose and fitted where it should be tight. It came down to almost the small of my back and had several thin straps to keep it from being a true halter style dress and helped keep everything where it needed to be. It had built in support so I wouldn't need a bra and wasn't so long that I would easily trip. I wasn't sure about the bare arms, but I figured there might be a nice wrap I could get with it. And, because it was so simple, it was less than I was willing to pay before it had been marked down. I thought I had lucked out, until I stepped out of the dressing room.

Angela was looking at two dresses hung on a wheeling rack, trying to pick between them. Jess was sitting facing me, comparing a different shoe on each foot while judging the affect each of her remaining dresses would have against each. She saw me first as I stepped out, and she gasped, catching Angela's attention. They both just sort of stared at me, far longer than it took for me to be self-conscious.

"What?" I asked, looking down for stains or tears I might have missed.

Jess just stood, and wobbled her precarious way on two different sized heels over to me, and slowly pulled my hair back and held it behind my head.

"Lauren is going to absolutely hate you," she said.

"You look amazing, Bella," said Angela.

I blushed and was ready to be out of the dress. I stepped back in and took it off. I left the dress with Angela and Jessica and ran to the restroom to take off the makeup. On the way back, I found where they kept the wraps and found a beaded black shawl that would work and would match my shoes well enough.

After sitting and helping the others decide for another half hour, I was starting to feel restless. I had given them my opinions and helped them make the best decision I could, and while Angela had moved on to shoes and was thinking about getting some cheap jewelry, Jessica hadn't even narrowed it down to two dresses, and I was starting to become impatient.

"Hey," I asked suddenly, impulsively, "do you two know if there is a bookstore in town?"

I had meant to get to a bookstore on Saturday, but if I could bring back a few books, then at least I would have another excuse to cancel my Saturday trip. Also, while I was thinking about it, maybe I could pick up a book or two on the supernatural.

Angela wasn't sure, but Jessica at least seemed eager to have me elsewhere. I could tell she was getting to the point where more input of any kind was going to be a hindrance rather than a help. We arranged to meet later for food, so I took the hastily conveyed directions, paid, and put my clothes in the car and returned the keys to Jessica.

"Don't get lost," said Jess with a laugh, and I headed out.

I did get lost. Twice. It didn't help that Jess had two street names swapped and that there was a third between them. I had crossed back and forth between two streets several times when I finally spotted a group of four men walking down the street.

"Excuse me," I said loudly, "I'm lost. Could you help me?"

They walked over and I didn't pay them much mind. I could smell alcohol on them and they were overly friendly, but they pointed me in the right direction, amidst the many "sugars" and "honeys".

It was starting to get dark by the time I found it, and when I did, it turned out to be a new age shop with crystals in the windows on mirrors and incense burning on the counters that just happened to also carry books. They wouldn't have anything I was looking for here. Still, I looked around for a minute, just to be polite, but when I was right and they didn't have anything I was interested in, I headed back out.

Night was falling in earnest now, and the street lights started winking on. Something about this situation was making feel a bit uneasy, and I wasn't sure why until I glanced over my shoulder and saw him. Someone was following me.

There was nothing remarkable about the guy at first that I could see. He was maybe ten years older than me, but he was noticeably taller and yet slowed his pace to match mine. He was doing everything he could not to look at me, but was constantly sweeping his eyes everywhere else, as though looking to make sure no one else was watching me, or him. I was about to get particularly scared, when a second man joined him, and they started walking together, looking at the ground. They looked familiar, but I could really place them.

I was still feeling nervous, so I tried to take a more direct route back to where the girls would be meeting me for dinner. I found a cross street and started down in. I was more than half way down it when I realized something was wrong. There wasn't anyone here. It was an industrial space, with solid walls and only a few doors to speak of, none of which looked to be public access. The lights were few and far between, and there wasn't any traffic in sight. And, the two men were still following me.

I couldn't run. I knew that was a stupid idea. I wouldn't get more than five steps before I would fall. I had my small purse with me, but it held only money and a few necessity and wouldn't make for a very good weapon, only maybe a distraction. Then, I remembered the mace. I reached into my bag, the men starting to close the distance with me. When there were four strides away, I turned on a heel, bobbled my step, but still came up strong, planted my feet and pointed the mace at them.

"Whoa!" one said. "Hey!"

"Back off," I said, trying not to let my voice tremble.

"We weren't doing nothing," the other said. I didn't budge.

"Back off," I said again, a little louder.

I wasn't sure where the other one came from. Suddenly a strong hand grabbed my wrist and wrenched it to one side. It hurt, a lot, and the mace went flying out of my slack fingers. I was about to scream, but another hand clamped over my mouth from a different angle. I couldn't see very well, but I suddenly recognized the smell. It was the same drunk men, the four from before. Hands grabbed me, pulling me back, off of the street, into an alley between two buildings. Their hands were rough and cloying, unconcerned with anything save my escape. I went slack, hoping my dead weight would break their hold or deter them, but all four took me up and carried me with easy.

I tried to scream. I tried to pull away. All I could see were flashes of the night sky and bits of buildings as I struggled uselessly. They were too strong. There was no way I could escape, my mind a white fog of blank terror. I knew what could be coming. I couldn't think of it, wouldn't think of it. I was set more or less upright again, my back pressed to the front of one of them, who clutched me about the waist, one of his fingers toying with the hem of my jeans, his lips finding my ear.

"Such a sweet thing," he whispered. "So pretty…"

One each had each of my arms, laughing and goading the final one on. He came up close to me, grabbing a handful of my hair, jerking me face up towards him. I looked resolutely away. But then, I realized that my mouth was free. I only got out half a second of scream before his free hand shoved its way over my face, practically suffocating me. I tried to wrestle my mouth away, but his arm was stronger than my whole neck. His second hand pulled down the neck of my sweater, loose as it was. His fingers worried down towards the softness of my flesh, and my tears began to come in sheer anger and frustration.

And then, something weird happened with his arm. His hand relaxed and flopped a little, twisting in an odd angle out of my shirt. And he started screaming. I couldn't understand why, until I felt his hand brush my leg on the way down, his other still on my face. He let go and pulled back, clutching the tangled mass of flesh about his shoulder where his arm had once been. He was suddenly flung into the air, cracking his head against the wall of the opposite building, leaving a dark smear nearly two stories up on the wall. He landed with a sodden crunch and didn't move.

The three others were still holding me, but they were not doing so harshly anymore. They were at a loss as what to do.

"Lonnie?" one of them asked, confused.

Hands slipped off my arm. One of the men fell face first onto alley in front of me, his feet seemingly pulled out from under them. He was suddenly dragged, so quickly he couldn't work himself into a scream before he was out of sight, his scrabbling hands and whimpering suddenly silenced by a harsh gurgling sound.

"This isn't happening," the last one who had my other arm said. "This isn't hap-."

He was suddenly pulled upward, into the black of night, his voice quieting as soon as he was out of sight.

The last one, behind me, wheeled me around to face me.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Oh god, I'm sorry. Make it stop! You have to make it stop! I don't want to d-"

A force spun me. It did so perfectly, pulling him away from me and drawing me with the pulls, so that his passing didn't crash into my shoulder. I continued the turn until I was once again facing the wall that had been at his back, away from the alley at large. I heard him choking, him trying to gasp for air, and then, a nasal sound, the sound of murmured haste that began to draw itself out with every breath, as though a great animal was being sated.

I turned slowly. The man was pressed against the far wall, and I couldn't see much of him. All but the upper right half of his face was obscured by a figure between me and him, bending him and bending over him. His only visible eye was wide, unseeing, unblinking, pulled and affixed in an expression of fear, the last expression his face would ever wear.

My eyes lingered on the figure between us, rising and falling by inches, as though breathing heavily, rocking slightly with every pull. I somehow knew that figure. I had never seen it in that way, from that perspective, but I knew it. I would know it anywhere.

"Edward," I whispered.

He turned to face me. It was him. His face was the same as I had seen it last, still as beautiful as ever. The differences were subtle. His canines were pointed, gleaming in the faint light enough to be seen. He was completely unmarked by bloody slaver, save for the bit about his lips and teeth. Upon his face were strange black rivulets of what reminded me of mascara laden tear tracks, accept that the black flecks were too large, and some had a uniform curved edge. They were the pieces of contacts, I understand, as my eyes met his, scarlet and giving off a burnished glow in the low light. They were the same eyes I had seen at my window nearly a week before.

"Edward," I said again, my voice weak.

He was across the alley in an instant, my body taking up with the motion, my back suddenly pressed against the far wall. It didn't hurt, but I could no longer see his face, so close was he to me. His body so close to mine, I couldn't help but notice the coolness of him, the entire lack of warmth.

"Don't run," he said, his voice deeper than it had been, slightly tremulous. "Or run. If you run, I will chase you. I will hunt you. I will know what to do. Prey. Kill."

His voice went almost erotic, "Drink."

For a long moment, I didn't move. I was still. I had been afraid, but I remembered. I was in his arms. I had been safe here. I could be safe here again. Slowly, my fear left me, completely. Slowly, not wanting to startle him, I drew up my hand. One of his was pressed against the wall beside my hip, the other against the wall next to my head. I let my hand come up, only barely brushing him, until its fingertips touched his chin. His whole body twitched, all except his face, which remained still. I continue, sliding back, rimming the edge of his jaw, his skin smooth and cool, with just the barest hint of give, just like mine. Cold and dark as he was, in this way, we were still the same.

My hand cupped his face. With the slightest bit of pressure, more a question than an insistence, I guided him back a bit until I could see his face, and he could see mine. My second hand came up too, finding the other side of his face as well. His eyes were still burgundy in the low light, but the glow was gone from them. His teeth were as they were before, if still reddened in places. I let him see my face too, relaxed and peaceful.

He was here. He was actually here. I had missed him more than I wanted to admit to myself. And he had come, when I was in pain, in danger, when I needed him the most. He had come and he had saved me.

"Thank you," I whispered.

He looked as though I had just slapped him.

"What?" he asked.

"Thank you," I said again, in equal fervor. "I don't want to think what would have happened if you hadn't come along."

Pain infused his face. He looked as though he was tied at the stake and was trying not to let the pain and fear show as the flames began to lick up him.

"It's okay," I whispered. I wanted to draw him to me, to hold him, tall and large as he was to me, but I somehow knew he would not allow it.

He let out a bitter laugh, the pain in him hidden away.

"You are trying to console me?" he said. "Weren't you watching?"

"Yes," I said simply.

"And?" he bite out harshly.

"And what?" I asked patiently.

"Nothing to say?" he asked.

"What would you like me to say?" I asked, as calm as he was agitated.

"The truth!" he hissed. It didn't sound wholly human.

I looked at the ground. Two bodies were laid there. I felt a little nauseated.

"You probably shouldn't have killed them," I said calmly.

He barked another laugh, "They deserved that and more. If I wasn't worried for your safety and had time, they would have lasted days and would have been begging for death before it was over. They would have paid in full for what they had done to you."

"They didn't deserve to die," I said, but it was a hard pill to swallow. I took a deep breath, remembering who I was.

"Even if they…" I trailed off, unable to say it. "Even if they had done what they intended to do, they wouldn't have deserved death. Consequences, sure, but not death."

He sneered at me, "You would forgive rapist and murders? That is what they were!"

I looked gently at his face.

"Is that why you hate them?" I asked. "Because they were killers, like you?"

He looked as though the flames were back, and as though he couldn't hold back anymore.

"I-" he tried, but could not get the words out. "I-"

"You are," I said, "a worthwhile person, still."

He looked as though he had been shot, while being burned alive.

"But you shouldn't kill people," I said. "You can't unkill these, but you really shouldn't kill anyone else."

His expression was hard and pained, and suddenly, in a flash, he was gone.

The bodies were gone too. I had no idea where he had gone. I waited minutes and he didn't return. I turned and walked out of the alley, pulling the neck of my sweater back in place and avoiding blood on my shoes. I was unsure where to go, what direction to turn, when a silver Volvo pulled up in front of me. The door opened.

"You don't have-"

Before he could say more, I was in and pulling the door shut.

"-get in," he said. The door thunked.

"I mean it," he said. "If you don't want to-"

"I'm here," I said. "Honestly, I don't even know where I am going from here. But I am here. We need to talk."

He nodded, turning his once again dark eyes and clean face back to the road.

"Yes," he intoned, "we do."

We pulled out into the street and away.

"Are you alright?" he asked. He was driving fairly fast, but his turns were so smooth and perfectly timed that we moved through traffic perfectly. I felt completely comfortable.

"I'm fine," I said.

"You're…fine?" he asked, his words saturated with suspicion.

"Yes," I said. He looked out through the windshield.

"After everything that you have been through, everything that you… witnessed, how can you possibly be calm?" he asked dubiously.

"I feel safe with you," I said honestly.

For a moment, I thought he might kick me out of the car. His jaw tight, he pulled around and into the restaurant where I was supposed to be meeting Jessica and Angela. They were just walking out, and they didn't look very happy. Neither of them seemed to notice the silver Volvo. We parked and I got out.

"Ang," I called. "Jess."

They turned, and both looked relieved.

"Where were you?" Jess admonished. "We had to eat without you! Why-?"

Edward stepped up beside me.

"Angela," he said politely. "Jessica. My apologies for keeping Bella away. She was lost on her way back to you when I spotted her from the road. I got her back to you directly."

I tried to look appropriately contrite. I was just glad he was back beside me.

"That's alright," said Jessica, sounding a little far away. "We're just glad you're okay."

"You still need to eat?" Edward asked me.

"I'm fine," I said again.

He glanced at my friends then back to me, then smiled at me. A second later, I was surprised I wasn't looking up at him from the sidewalk. How did he do that?!

"Come to dinner with me," he said.

I couldn't remember how to... words.

"Sure," I said, the word as wobbly as I felt.

"I would be happy to give you a ride home afterward," he continued, expanding his words to include my friends too, as though seeking their approval.

"Go!" Jess nearly commanded. "Oh, your… bag."

"Right," I said. We walked over to her car and I got my shopping bag out of her backseat. While Jess was closer to me than Edward, she whispered, "Call me the second you get home!"

I managed to catch Edward rolling his eyes as I said my goodbyes to them.

"Be safe," Angela added, and they got in and drove away.

A moment later, I turned back to him.

"You don't have to-" I began, but he held up a hand.

"It would be my privilege," he said smoothly. He wasn't quite as charming as he had been in front of the girls, but he was at least as companionable as he had been… last Thursday? That seemed like ages ago!

We got in the car.

"Where do you like?" he asked.

I shrugged, "I have never eaten here before."

He nodded and pulled into a small Italian place not too far from where Jess had suggested. We were walking up to the door when I caught my shoe on the curb. I was about to fall when my hand caught something. I looked up to find it was his arm. He had managed to loop it right where my hand was flung and caught me, or at least allowed me to catch myself.

"Thanks," I said as I righted myself. We kept walking and I really didn't feel the need to remove my hand from his arm, and he didn't seem to feel the need to drop his either.

Walking inside, the hostess opened her mouth to greet us, but seemed to forget how to move her jaw. I glanced aside as could see why. Edward was being his charismatic self again.

"Table for two," he said.

"Of course," she said breathily. "This way."

I caught a slightly pensive look on Edwards face as we walked. She led us to a very nice table in the center of the small restaurant. He paused, and I felt his arm stiffen ever so slightly under my hand. He glanced minisculely over at me, then put his sole attention upon her.

"Something a little more private," he said, commanded really, and I caught the tone in his voice, one that I had heard once before.

"Yes," she said, a little flatly, before leading us over to the furthest corner of the restaurant to a booth. I slid into one side, and him the other, coming to a comfortable ninety degrees from one another. I would have been comfortable sitting closer, but I got the impression he did not.

"Anything to drink?" she asked, sounding much as she had before.

I wasn't sure, waiting for Edward to answer, but he waited for me. When I thought about it, I had never seen him eat or drink anything at all. I looked at the drink menu.

"I'll have a coke," I said, unsure.

"For me as well," he said. She smiled and headed away from us.

"That was a neat little trick," I said, not sure where else to start.

His focus sharpened on me, "Trick?"

"You did it before," I said, "with Mrs. Cope."

He stared at me.

"I really should get used to that," he said. "You are so perceptive."

I chuckled, "Not so much. You're just really obvious."

"Not to most people," he said.

I shrugged, "Most people don't pay very good attention."

"You do," he said.

My lips quirked, "You do too."

He gave me the crooked smile that never failed to make my heart race.

"I am a bit biased when it comes to you, though," he said.

I shook my head, "Because I'm so interesting?"

I didn't bother to add the air quotes. My tone did that well enough on its own.

"Something like that," he said.

I pulled the utensils out of their napkin and folded the napkin carefully on my lap, "I'm sorry."

"For what?" he almost demanded, sounding very displeased.

"I shouldn't have put myself in danger like that," I said. "I should have been paying more attention. I should have gone back way earlier. I shouldn't have-"

"Stop," he said flatly but as though he had trouble getting the single word out.

I looked over at him. His face had become an emotionless mask, one that thrilled me as much as made me wary. He stopped breathing until I looked away and waited for him to speak again.

"Do not blame yourself," he said. "I have…. I understand the minds of such men. No action you committed was responsible for what they did. It was their choice, and theirs alone."

The waiter appeared, with our drinks. She gave Edward a very come-hither smile. I wasn't sure if I should roll my eyes or nod in understanding.

"Have we decided or would you like more time?" she asked. Again, Edward deferred to me. I opened the menu, turned to the entrees, and chose the first one.

"For you, sir?" she asked, sounding so suggestive, I wanted to clear my throat, or maybe accidentally throw my menu at her face. By accident.

"Nothing for me," said Edward, completely unfazed. He gathered the menus and handed them to her without a second look at her. She looked rather disappointed and walked away. I tried not to start beaming.

"You understand," he asked, determinedly, "it wasn't your fault?"

I shrugged, "If I hadn't been so stupid-"

"Nothing you did was stupid!" he all but exclaimed.

I gave him a look, and he became more subdued.

"If I had acted with more consideration," I said, "I wouldn't have been in that situation to begin with."

He nodded, "Perhaps, but only by being in that situation could you have known to avoid it. It isn't fair that you should expect yourself to know not to make mistakes before you make them. No one is capable of that sort of forethought."

I didn't say anything for a moment. He slid the drink that was set close to me a bit closer.

"You should drink something," he said.

"Why?" I asked, pulling the paper off of my straw.

He shook his head in mild disbelief.

"How are you so calm?" he asked. "You did just have a fairly traumatic experience."

I shrugged and sipped, "Maybe."

"Maybe?" he asked, extremely dubious.

"I would have gotten over it," I said. "I am not sure how long it would have taken the effects to fade completely, but while I felt responsible for my actions, I wasn't responsible for theirs."

He blinked at me.

"Are you suggesting that you weren't just taking responsibility for what they did a few minutes ago."

"I wasn't," I said. "It wasn't my fault that they decided to do what they did. But I live in a world where people do stupid and hurtful things. While it isn't my responsibility to take the blame for them, I can still avoid situations that are likely to get me hurt."

He nodded, soberly.

"When do you want me to leave?" he asked.

I looked confused, "You're my ride."

He actually laughed, but it seemed like it was forced out of him.

"No," he said, seriousness returning. "I mean, when do you want me to leave Forks?"

I stared at him, "I don't."

His eyes narrowed.

"After what you have seen tonight," he said slowly, "you do not want me to leave?"

"No, I don't," I said simply.

"Why?" he asked.

I shrugged, "Because you have done nothing that demands your exile."

He laughed bitterly.

"You saw what I did," he said. "You saw… who I am, what I am. Do you not see?"

"See what?" I asked.

"That when I said that I am the worst person you know," he spat, "I was not exaggerating!"

I took a deep breath, fuller than most, letting it out slowly.

"Am I dead?" I asked him.

He looked unsure, "Of course not."

"Then I beg to differ," I said.

"Do not do that," he said. "Do not undermine my actions."

"I'm not," I said, quickly. "I'm really not. Understand this; I have no interest in having murders in my life. Like, that is pretty high on the list of things I don't want."

"Then when should I leave?" he asked again.

"Stop that!" I said, my face getting hot. "I am not saying that you need to leave, so cut it out. Having any sort of healthy relationship with someone who murders people isn't possible. It doesn't have to do with the person's self worth or the fact that they are killing people. It has to do with the fact that they believe that something so hurtful is the only accept course of action to take. If fundamentally, they think that doing something that wrong is the best decision they can make, the only choice they have, than such flawed behavior will dominate their entire existence. People have choices. They aren't easy or often even good, but there is always another way. We just need to find it."

He looked at me, hard.

"What exactly are you suggesting?" he asked.

"Nothing," I said. "I am suggesting nothing. But, I am asking, is there a way for you to… live, to be, without being a murderer?"

He locked down. He looked at the table, a hurt and slightly angry expression on his face.

"It isn't that-" he started, but I cut him off.

"No," I said. "That is an excuse, not an answer. Is there a way? Yes or no?"

He was quiet a long moment.

"Yes," he finally said, but did so as though it cost him something by saying it.

"I feel a but coming on," I said. He looked confused.

"But…" I supplied.

"But…" he continued, "I am not sure if I am… good enough, strong enough to do it."

I looked at him, his eyes downcast, his face sullen. My eyes never leaving his, I scooted around the booth towards him. The moment he began to grow rigid with discomfort, I stopped. Reaching out, I took his hand. Lifting it with one of mine, I set it in my other, cupping them with his between.

"We are all capable of many things," I said. "Some great, some not so good. But you'll never know what you are capable of if you are too afraid to try."

His hand was cool under mine and, somehow, very soothing to me. It wasn't uncomfortably cold or anything, just room temperature, like a cooling compress.

"You shouldn't do that," he said, scooting a bit away from me, but not pulling his hand away.

"Do what?" I asked.

"Get close to me," he said.

I scooted back from him too, not dropping his hand, a smile on my face.

"That isn't what I mean," he said irritable.

My smile bloomed, "I know."

"How much did you…" he started, then looked away. "What did you see tonight?"

I looked at him, wondering what answers he wished, "Most of it, I guess."

"You know…" he said. "I am sure you know that… that I…."

"You killed them," I nodded.

"I don't understand you," he said. "How is this even possible? Are you not repulsed by me? Why are you not running and screaming in terror?"

I shrugged, trying to keep the smile off of my face.

"Why do you keep doing that?" he demanded.

"Edward," I gentled. "You can't undo what you have done. Answer me this; do you want to keep killing people?"

He clenched his eyes shut. "No. Yes? I don't know…"

I can't help but grin, "You sort of make it a point not to think too hard about yourself."

He looked up, his face still harsh. Then, finally, his expression cracked, and he smiled ruefully.

"Touché," he said.

The waiter stepped around a partition, a tray with only my plate on it, looking lonely and slightly bereft. As soon as she saw how close we were sitting, she came up short. Without thinking, I slid back from him, to where I was sitting before. His hand lingered on my nearest, refusing to let it go until I needed it to receive my plate. Despite her interruption, she still gave Edward a meaningful look, dismissing me all together. But when I looked back to Edward, he only had eyes for me. I felt butterflies and sort of bubbly.

"Are you sure there isn't anything I can get you?" she asked, just as meaningful.

"No, thank you," he said a little dismissively, not dropping his attention from me. I took another sip of my coke, realized that it was empty from having taken regular sips throughout our conversation. I turned to indicate my glass to our waiter, but she was already walking away and was gone before I could tell she wasn't paying enough attention to notice.

Edward deftly swapped glasses with me, letting me retrieve my straw and put it into his untouched beverage.

"Do you drink?" I asked.

"Yes," he said easily.

"Usual beverages?" I asked carefully, drinking more soda.

He gave me a long look.

"Not usually," he said. "I can, thought it is unappealing and not particularly beneficial."

I smiled, "Cool."

He just stared at me as I began eating.

"Same for food?" I asked after a solid minute without speaking.

"Yes," he said, "only more so."

I smiled, "This is actually good, by the way."

"What do you like about it?" he asked, folding his hand under his chin.

I considered the food in my mouth, deconstructing it as I swallowed.

"It is creamy," I said, "but not overly heavy. Not too fatty. The mushrooms are cooked correctly, to the point that they are soft but not mushy. That is really hard to do with ravioli. The fact that they used a wheat pasta that doesn't overpower the dish is tough. Wheat pastas can be rather bitter. The filling seasoning is a tad salty, but that cuts the cream and the wheat really well. It keeps everything balanced. Nothing overdone, nothing in excess. Good."

"Balance is important," he said with gravity, his eyes still heavy on me. I had to admit, I was really starting to like them there.

"I wish…" he began, slowly.

"You wish?" I asked after swallowing.

He was quiet another beat longer, but then his words came out, in a rush.

"I wish that I could understand, could see the world as you do," he said. "It isn't that I don't comprehend what you believe; it is simply that I don't understand how you could draw those conclusions, how it is so easy for you to have faith in what you choose to trust about the world. If I did not know you as I do, I would have doubts about your sanity. How is it possible for someone, as good and forthright and honest and fair and true as you are, to simply forgive murder? I believe that if I were to truly walk away from my past, as you suggest it is so easy to do, I have a hard time believing that you could ever truly forgive me."

"I could," I said. "I can't promise it would be easy, but I could."

"Your ability is not what I have any doubts about," he clarified. "It is my experience that makes me doubt. With everything that I know about people and how the world works, you shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be here. I should have walked away from you that first day and never come back."

I took a moment to chew and swallow and breathe.

"If you had," I said, "I would likely be dead, twice over. Maybe three times."

He flinched, a look of pain crossing his face.

"I need no reminding," he said. "However, in my presence, you have come just as close to death twice over as well, nearly three times."

I considered, "How close are we talking?"

"What?" he asked, as though I had just asked him something truly uncouth.

"Well," I said, "considering I risk death to some degree every time I get into a car, every time I pick up a knife, every time I walk outside, every time I get out of bed, every time I go to sleep, every time I make any decision at all, I was just wondering how much risk we were talking here."

He stared at me, as though he was doubting my sanity again.

"Too much," he said. "You should never have to be concerned with whether or not you might… die in order to socialize with me."

I felt something rip through my chest.

"What is it?" he asked.

It hurt more than I would have thought possible, then was over. I couldn't put my finger on exactly why.

"It's nothing," I said, as the realization came to me, but I wasn't going to admit just how much I wished we were doing more here than simply socializing.

After a pause, I added, "It isn't your decision."

He glared at me, "It isn't my decision whether or not I kill you?"

I shrugged, "No, that is entirely your decision. I mean, given what I have seen tonight, I don't think I could even try to stop you if you decided to. But I get to choose where I sit and when I speak and with whom I decide to have relationships with. You get to make your own choices too. If you want to leave, that is well within your rights. So, as long as you are truly taking responsibility for your own actions, working towards being the better person I know you can be, and are here, I will be here too."

I kept eating. He kept watching, in silence. Finally, he said, "So, in theory, so long as I am making the decision not to kill, and taking care to be responsible and find the better choice, we can have a relationship."

I felt my face heat up, "I… That's not… When I say relationship…"

I sipped soda. He smiled at me. I had to look away.

"What I mean to say," he spoke gently, "is that you and I will be… together."

There was something in the way he said it, a weight and meaning that made me want to quiver and crow with happiness and gibber in corner, overwhelmed by everything that single word entailed.

"Yes," I whispered, feeling the weight in my word as well. He seemed to sit straighter, to stretch and swell at my word.

"If you are to make that decision," he said, "you need to know it all."

"In theory?" I asked.

He grinned, "In theory."

The waiter started walking our way.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

I looked down to see that my plate was clean.

"Yes," I said briefly.

"Can I get you anything else?" she asked Edward.

His eyes never even wavered, "Just the check."

She pulled a folded booklet from her apron. He pulled fifty from his wallet, I was pretty sure that our two drinks and my plate were probably about half of that, even with a decent tip.

"No change," he said and stood. I stood as well.

"Shall we?" he said, offering an arm. I took it and we walked out into the night.