A/N for 2018-08-29: Well. I was kinda worried that the first chapter didn't have much traction. Clearly, many of you thought otherwise. A warning: the angst monster is in full swing. Things are gonna get darker, before we hit the upside of this story. I promise you a particular, sparkly vampire in a few more chapters.

Thank you, as always for reading, reacting and reviewing.

~ Erin

(new FB handle!) AT FlamingMapleWrites

FlamingMaple on Tumblr

AT EAffleck on Twitter

The social worker in Forks had seen her to the bus, telling Bella that Jeff Allingham, her new social worker, would meet her at the depot in Seattle. She'd insisted she didn't need Billy and Jacob to wait to see her off, and with reluctance, they'd agreed, promising her again that they'd make sure the house was taken care of in her absence. She'd wanted to sell it, but Billy had talked her out of it, saying she needed to have somewhere to call home.

She'd been to Seattle a few times, but not for several years, and the skyline looked large, and intimidating, as it clarified on the ferry ride.

Jeff was waiting for her at the depot, arms folded, bag of paperwork slung over his shoulder. "Isabella?" he called, seeing her look around. He didn't wave, but jerked his head towards the benches beside him.

"I'm Jeff," he said, sitting down, giving her the most fleeting of eye contact.

"Hi," she said, a little awkwardly.

"I've got a placement for you with a family. They have a son your age, and've had a coupl'a successful foster placements." He showed her a piece of paper with names, an address on it, looking at her.

"OK."

"Great." He stood. "Ready?"

That was it? Bella thought. Name, address and here you go?

"Um, sure."

"Any questions?"

She shook her head. "Not now. Can I call you if I do?"

"Sure," he shrugged, not offering to help her with her bags. "This way."

When he looked back, frowning at her slow progress, he rolled his eyes and came back to grab one of the bags.

She struggled behind him, trying to keep up in the crowded space, eventually making their way to his car. The front seat had a stack of folders, which he moved out of the way, sweeping the dirt off the upholstery. It smelled damp, and mildewy. She tried to keep her nose from wrinkling.

They pulled up at a small bungalow just off of a major road.

"Not sure where you're from, but this is not a place you go wandering out alone at night. 'Specially not for a girl your age."

Bella said nothing, absorbing this information, feeling less easy about her decision to come here.

"I'll introduce you to the March's. C'mon." He again pulled out one of her bags, leaving her with the rest.

Moving ahead, he knocked on the door, looking at his clipboard when a woman answered. "Hi, Jennifer?"

"Jen," she said. "Jeff?"

"Yup, we talked on the phone, right?"

"Yeah. You're Isabella?" she asked, looking over his shoulder at Bella, who was huffing her way up the cracked walkway.

"Just Bella."

"Well, come in. No use heating the outside."

Bags and people just inside the door, Jeff presented the clipboard to Jen. "Sign here. Great. OK, Bella. Good luck."

Then he turned around, and left.

Bella really hoped she'd been stuck with a crappy social worker, because she couldn't imagine kids more fragile than her being dumped at a stranger's door like this.

"He's a keeper, huh?" Jen said, watching him go, shaking her head. "Sorry, they normally stay to make sure you're OK. Come on, I'll show you your room, and then get you some dinner."

It was a small bedroom, but big enough for a bed, a desk, and a chest of drawers. Her bags took up almost all the floor space.

"It's cozy, I know, but warm. Hot, unfortunately in summer." Jen smiled apologetically. "Bathroom's just here. You'll share that with Dave. He's not around too much, so it'll mostly be yours."

"He's my age, right?"

"Bit older. Nineteen."

"In school?"

"No, working," Jen smiled.

They sat at a small kitchen table together, over a simple meal of pasta and jarred sauce. Bella learned that Jen's husband was a long-haul trucker, and she was on disability from a workplace injury. A former nurse. She was friendly enough, but not smothering. Bella was relieved. She wanted little but to be left to go to school, and move on with her life as soon as she could.

It'd been a long day, and Bella excused herself, showering quickly, and getting ready for bed. The lock on the bathroom door wasn't the best, and when she heard it rattle, she jumped at the sound.

Then it opened, revealing a tall, shirtless man, the whites of his wide eyes bright against his dark skin. "Oh shit, sorry," he said, rapidly turning around and closing the door. Then, from behind it, added a muffled, "I'm Dave. Guessin' you're Bella."

"Um, hi," Bella said, finished, throwing on her robe. She opened the door.

"Do I know how to make introductions, or what?" he smiled, looking down, blushing a bit, she realized. "Sorry, see if I can get the lock fixed."

Or just knock? Bella thought.

"'S'OK," she mumbled. "Nice to meet you." She stuck out her hand.

He slapped his own into it. "You too. Mom show you 'round?"

"Yeah, she did, thanks."

"Well, you need anything, I'm across the hall."

"Thanks," Bella mumbled, eager for the day to be done. "Night."

"Night," he waved back, walking into the now empty bathroom.

She was up early the next day, knowing she'd need to be on a bus to get to school. Jen woke up with her, slow and shuffling in her bathrobe, handing Bella a lunch.

"Oh, thanks," Bella said, feeling her eyes tear up.

"It's just lunch honey," Jen said, seeing the reaction.

"Yeah, no, I just—" She didn't finish. Her mother had been the most unpredictable of lunch makers, and Charlie had warned her he didn't cook. She'd taken over most of the meal preparation in elementary school out of necessity. She'd been loved, she knew, but to have someone else think to feed her tugged at things she wanted well squared away before she walked into a new school.

"Big feelings," Jen said, not pressing for further explanation.

"Yeah."

Bus fare and directions in hand, Bella headed out the door. It was unremarkable as first days went at school, and she'd had enough of them to know. There was a sufficient blend of skin colours around that she didn't stick out, and clearly enough turn over that her arrival wasn't noticeable. This anonymity was welcome.

Jen wasn't home when Bella got back. Instead, there was a large man on the couch, feet up, snoring loudly. She entered as quietly as she could, thinking it must be Mr. March. Setting her bag down by the stairs, she tiptoed into the kitchen. Jen had told her to help herself, so she opened the the cupboards softly, looking for a snack.

"WHO'RE YOU!" a voice bellowed behind her.

She turned, startled, dropping the glass in her hand, feeling it shatter at her feet.

The man from the couch was pointing a gun at her.

"I'm Bella," she whispered, watching his hand tremble.

The safety was off.

"Bella?" he asked suspiciously, squinting.

Swallowing, she asked, voice quavering, "who're you?"

"Vince. What're you doing here?"

"I'm the new foster kid," she said, watching him readjust his grip on the gun. "Can you put that down, please?"

"Foster kid?"

Then there was a set of thumping footsteps down the stairs.

"Dad, gezus, put it down!" Dave yelled.

"You know her?"

"Yeah, just like she said. Put it down, 'K?"

He did, still watching her.

"Come on, Dad, you go sleep it off, hey?" He had the gun in his hand now. Expertly emptying the chamber, pocketing the rounds.

Bella still stood there, shocked, and trembling.

Dave came back, a broom and dustpan in hand. "Sorry," he said, "he's on some medication right now, makes him forget stuff."

"Like who lives here?"

"Yeah. It'll be fine now that he's met you. You're good." He was sweeping up the glass, putting it in the dustbin. "How was school?"

"Fine," Bella said mechanically, wondering why his father had a loaded gun in the house. Clearly within arm's reach. "You keep guns, loaded, in the house?"

"Dad has one, yeah."

"Loaded?"

"Not now he doesn't," Dave said airly, patting his pocket.

"Anything else I need to know about him?"

"Naw, you're good."

Bella didn't feel so good, though, and this only grew the next day, when she returned home to find her room rifled through.

"Sorry, Dad gets like this sometimes, wants to check for contraband on new foster kids," Dave explained shrugging. She noticed that the cash she'd had in her dresser was gone, as was her iPod.

Jen and Dave dismissed it, saying someone must've left the front door unlocked. It was the weakest of excuses, and Bella made sure the remainder of her valuables were in her backpack when she left for school the next day.

She didn't rush home after classes, stopping at a small park instead, its playground broken and rusted, but the bench intact, sheltered by the reach of an old oak. Its leaves were mostly gone, but a few clung stubbornly to its inner branches. Pulling out her journal and pencil, she sketched the twitching shapes, running a hand over her old illustrations. She'd inked out the view from her room in Phoenix, and then the one in Forks. She hadn't felt at ease enough to try the one in Seattle yet.

After a solid half hour, she felt better for the quiet of the outside, and the soothing work of a pen on paper. She packed up her things, and walked towards the bus stop.

The smell of cigarettes made her look around as she approached the house. She hadn't seen any signs of smokers there before. Opening the door to the small entranceway, she saw a small group of men sitting in the living room, each hunched over, cards at their chests, clearly involved in a poker game. Vince was one of them, and he didn't need to tell her to make herself scarce. The looks on their faces were menacing enough, seeing her standing there.

Trotting as lightly up the stairs as she could, she pushed open the door of her room, only to find a man's shape sprawled out on her bed.

Dave was nowhere in sight. He'd been sort of a buffer between her and Vince, when Jen wasn't home.

She put her backpack down, and then returned downstairs, standing at the edge of the living room, "um, Vince?"

"Yeah what?" he asked, not looking up from the cards in front of him.

"There's someone in my bed."

"Aww shit, Sammy, go tell Jim to go sleep in Dave's room. C'mon."

One of the other men got up, looking Bella up, and then down, as he walked by. "I'd complain if I found Jim in my bed too, sugar, but I can take that spot anytime you want."

"Shut it, Sammy. She's our foster-kid."

Sammy held up his hands, "OK, OK," he mumbled, but then whispered, "anytime, sweetheart," making kissy-fish lips and laughing as he walked away.

"System kid, huh?" One of the other men asked. "Wanna make some cash girly?"

Vince smacked him across the head. "Nu-uh."

"What? All the other—"

"Shut it! Cop's kid, dumbass," he hissed.

All of the men remaining turned and stared at her.

One of them mumbled, "you let that in your house?"

Vince only shook his head, saying "eyes on the cards, boys. We need to be out later."

There was a general rumble of agreement, and they turned back to their game, ignoring her.

Sammy returned, a sleepy looking Jim in tow.

"Sorry girl, would've been awake if I'd known you were comin' up." He grinned at Bella, who turned, face neutral, to return upstairs. When she heard them leave, she exhaled in relief.

The group was there again the next day. And more of her things were missing.

This time she confronted Vince directly.

"You accusin' me of lyin' and stealin' in my own home, kid?"

"No, I'm asking for my things back."

"You're here on our charity, girl. Be smart and keep your mouth shut."

"You're paid to take care of me," she said, arms as rigid at her sides as they could be, one still casted and aching.

Dave and Jen looked on uneasily from the kitchen table.

Vince had been leaning against the sink, he moved forward, his stride and stance aggressive.

Bella managed to duck the punch he threw, backing up into a wall.

"Vince, no!" Jen yelled at him, standing.

"Shut it!" he shouted, and then let her feel the sting of his fist, right into his wife's eye.

Dave stayed stock still, eyes down, just breathing.

Bella picked up the phone from the counter, running upstairs, dialing the police. She shoved her bed against the door to her room, and waited there, shaking.

It was very quiet while she waited, the operator staying on the line, asking occasional questions.

When the thump of booted feet up the stairs announced the police's arrival, she made them slip their ID under the door, before opening the door.

"You come downstairs, please?" one of the officers asked.

She followed them, still shaking.

"Mrs. May tells us you assaulted her."

Bella's eyes widened. "What? I—"

Dave spoke. "We all saw, Bella."

Jen said nothing, eyes married to the floor, a frozen bag of peas over her face.

"I didn't," Bella said, "He hit her when she stood up to defend me."

The officer looked at Jen, gaze flicking over her posture, and Dave's. Both had shoulders rounded with submission. The bodily language was clear to all present.

"You want to press charges, Ma'am?" the officer asked, eyebrows up, looking to her, then Bella's petite form.

Jen shook her head.

"I understand you're their foster child?"

Bella locked her jaw, nodding.

"Do you want to stay?"

"No."

"OK," the officer sighed. "You know your social worker's number?"

With a voice leaden with anger, and defeat, Bella gave it to him, wondering where she would wind up next.

Packing her things up took much less time than it had at Charlie's, so many of them gone.

She went with the officers, who took her down to the police station. When one of them led her to an interview room, the hair on the back of her neck stood up.

"You can't question me, not without counsel, or consent of my guardians."

"Your guardians gave it," the officer said, holding up the paperwork.

Bella went to open her mouth in protest, but then shut it again.

Sitting down, the woman began asking her the most basic questions, which Bella answered, knowing there was no harm in giving what the social worker already knew.

When she asked for a more detailed statement, Bella stopped talking. "I'm entitled to a lawyer," she mumbled.

"No, you're not. Your guardians have signed off on you speaking with us without representation."

"I'm old enough to make informed decisions," Bella said, less certainly.

"What you're old enough to understand kid, is that you've made an accusation that no one has backed up. And that the family's possessions have gone missing."

"Their possessions? Mine have been taken every day from my room!"

"You report that?" the officer levelled at her, their eyes locking.

Bella flushed angrily, and turned away. "No," she sighed out.

"Right. So, why don't you tell me what happened, then?"

With few other options than to make sure her story was heard, Bella did, keeping it to the barest of details.

When the officer's notes were done, she stood, murmuring, "back in a bit with this for you to sign."

Bella sat, looking at the closed door, a small window in it that allowed her to catch glances of passing heads. No one else stopped to look in, or see who was there. It was the better part of an hour, and Bella was yawning, getting ready to put her head down on the table, when the door opened abruptly.

It was Jeff, looking surly and dishevelled. "Didn't expect to see you flunk out of a home placement."

Bella stared at him. Flunk? She'd been robbed and assaulted, and he was—of course he was, the sarcastic voice in her head muttered. They'd all contradicted her claim.

"Come on, let's get your stuff and go."

"Where?" Bella asked, suspiciously.

"A group home."

"What's that?" she asked warily.

"A place for kids who struggle in regular placements."

"I didn't struggle, Jeff. They—"

"Mr. Allingham," he corrected her, still gesturing for her to get up and leave.

She stood, but said, "they need me to sign my statement."

"Sure," he said, voice flat. "But let's go. It's late."

The officer stood up from her desk, clipboard ready. But she didn't hand it to Bella, she handed it to Jeff.

"OK," he said, glancing at it.

"SIgn here," he said, handing it to Bella, pulling over the first page, presenting her with the signature space.

"I need to read it first."

He shoved it into her chest. "Be my guest. I'll come back for you tomorrow morning." Then he turned as if to walk away.

Flustered, exhausted, and confused by all that transpired during the day, and the weeks before, Bella choked out a "fine," signing her name to it, hoping it didn't come back to haunt her. The officer didn't even look at her as she walked away.

She felt almost invisible.

The group home was a house on the verge of a residential neighbourhood, the rumble of a railway line not so far away. A rusted security door barred the way in. Matching bars screened the window. It looked like a jail made by amateurs.

Jeff knocked on the rattling frame, which was opened by the silhouette of hulking bodybuilder. His voice even growled, with a tone that matched the rustiness of the door.

"What?"

"Hey Neal, got your new kid."

"It's after hours."

"Should I have left her at the precinct for the night?"

This seemed to create a welcome Bella didn't expect.

"Course not," he said softly. "Come on in, kid."

Inside, the light revealed the form it had shadowed, but with a younger face than expected. "Hi, I'm Neal. And you're?"

"Bella," she said, looking around anxiously. It was surprisingly clean, given the questionable exterior. There were printed, and laminated signs everywhere—things to do, and not do. Rules in large print. Platitudes in others: Your attitude determines your happiness.

Jeff stayed for a moment this time, signing her in, and then pulling her aside while Neal got a temporary bed ready.

"You're at stage two, Bella. You want to stay here."

"Why?"

"Because stage three is a secured facility. Got me?"

She raised her eyebrows, trying to muster something to show him she hadn't done anything wrong, when he spoke again.

"Most kids take some time to work out of a home placement. It doesn't say much of you that you got yourself police booted in less than a week. Keep your nose clean here."

His mind so clearly made up, Bella kept her lips pressed tightly together, nodding. The less she saw of him, the better.

Neal was back, picking up her bags, waving to Jeff, who slipped outside, the door clanging shut behind him.

Deposited in a small room with a bed, Jeff pointed out the direction to the bathroom, and told her he'd get her a proper room in the morning.

"How do I get to school?" she asked. She realized she wasn't even sure where she was.

"We'll get you registered tomorrow."

"But I already started—"

He shook his head. "There's a school within walking distance. No point in you bussing across town."

Another school. Another delay.

She shut down the anxiety that was trying to twist her stomach around.

Third time's the charm, she told herself instead. This would work out. It had to.