Port Angeles

A/N for 2018-09-10: The first week of school is still kicking my butt. Hopefully, this chapter is more cogent than I feel.

Guest reviewers: Thank you for commenting so thoughtfully - how I wish we could PM!

~ Erin

Her new phone buzzed and chirped at her just as she was stepping out onto the street, leaving her fumbling for it in her pocket.

"Hello?"

"Just me," Billy's gruff voice buzzed into her ear. She held the phone away from her ear, pressing down the volume button. "You in Port Angeles yet?"

"Yeah," she said, "just got here."

"School sorted?"

"Yes," she breathed out, "I start tomorrow."

"Good. We're gonna get some pizza tonight. Save you some if you're late."

"Thanks Billy." She felt a small relief. She'd worried about getting back in time to make sure there was something decent to eat.

"Have fun. Drive safe, OK?"

"WIll do."

Her heart stuttered a bit, and she wiped her eyes. It struck her, afresh, and startlingly, at times, that he cared.

Being cared for seemed a very precious thing now.

Breathing in deeply, she stepped back against her truck as a small group of men shuffled by her. One of them looked sideways at her movement, shrugging, continuing on.

She found the small department store first, collecting basic clothing for everyday wear, and then, realizing a court appearance might require something more formal, picked out two blouses, a skirt, and a pair of slacks. Solid investments for any interviews she had too. Trying things on was slow. One side of her torso still ached, and she moved carefully, coddling it against shifts.

Her selections found, and found suitable, she went to the till. As she waited, a fine silver chain, and its light amber pendant, caught her eye. The amber matched, with an eerie precision, the colour of Edward's eyes when she'd seen him last.

"This too," she said, pulling it off, feeling a little twinge at the small indulgence.

"Nice choice," the woman remarked. "One of our locals makes those. Real silver, too."

As the cashier went to wrap it, Bella reached out with her hand, "No, I'll wear it, actually."

"Suits you, that colour," she said, handing it over. "Go nice with that shirt, too," she added, nodding at the blue blouse.

"Maybe I'll wear that too, then."

"Big night out on the town?"

Bella chuckled. "Just the bookstore."

"Big night," the woman winked. "For me anyway."

They both laughed, and Bella went to change, feeling more herself, wrapped in clothes of her own choosing.

It took a few tries to find the bookstore, the first a more general one a stranger had directed her to. She'd lingered there, feasting on titles familiar and old, letting her fingers drift over covers of wordy friends she'd once owned. She didn't buy anything, knowing most would be available at the library. She needed to save her money. College was not cheap.

She got better instructions to the bookstore she wanted the second time. It was a trite affair, littered with hung crystals and beaded curtains. Incense burned in the corner. The man at the counter had long, greying hair, and smiled too pacifically at her when she walked in, his eyes glazed.

There was no rush through this place either. She stood for a long time, one hand on the beautifully bound, blank paged journals. Her own, so similarly made, was who knows where. Sorely missed. After several minutes she uprooted her feet, looking for the book of legends. It was easy enough to find. Then her gaze was stopped by another book, on the way to the counter: The night gone: A survivor's guide to sexual abuse. It was stacked with others of its kind. A glance towards the proprietor told her he was more attentive than she'd thought, and she snatched her hand back, taking her single purchase to him.

"That all for today?" he asked.

It could be a perfectly innocent question, but her mind supplied so many dark reasons for its existence.

"Yes," she mumbled, paying hurriedly, and leaving the same way.

She was flustered. It was illogical, she knew, but she imagined her past stamped on her forehead for all to see.

Then she realized she'd gone the wrong way.

Stopping, she turned and looked around her. It was just growing dark, the last bits of sunlight making the sky rosy. She was...she didn't know where she was. Her worry had muddled her so, she wasn't precisely sure which way she'd come.

Then she saw the group of men, laughing together, cresting over the small hill above her, one of them lifting his chin in her direction. There were more guffaws.

Her hackles rose, and she chose the first street that offered the most space and lighting, walking down it at a pace that signalled her panic to all around her.

She kept walking, not daring to look back. She could hear their laughter growing closer. Were they running? Was it the buildings channeling the sound?

Checking would only entice them more.

She kept moving, rounding the corner and keeping her head down, trying to remember what Charlie had told her: hit soft parts, use any objects you have. That left her with keys, book, wallet and phone. Pulling the keys out, she threaded the largest between her fingers, her breathing now too fast to let her walk as quickly.

The footsteps of the men were catching up with her.

"Hey sweetheart, wait up," one of them called.

The rest laughed.

She kept walking. Right into the closed space provided by three solid buildings around her. She'd put herself into a dead end.

The jangle of her keys told her that her hands were shaking.

"Hey," one of the voices called. "Don't I know you from somewhere?"

She turned around, not recognizing any of the faces there, but fearing all of them.

"Come get a drink with us."

"No thank you," she said, watching them approach. Most of them were sauntering, hands in their pockets. One had his out. He was closest.

She backed away from him. She knew the look on his face.

"Sure I've seen you somewhere," he said. "C'mon, we're goin' for drinks. You should come with us."

He was close enough now that she could smell the ones he'd had already.

"Girl like you shouldn't be wandering around alone in this part of town."

He reached his hand out, grabbing for her forearm, which she snatched away.

He was quick, though, and reached the other one. "Just a drink. Nothing else."

"Let go," she growled, with more ferocity than she felt.

The other men heard the engine before they saw it, jumping out of the way as a car jammed itself into the small space.

The door driver's door opened, and Edward emerged, looking more dark and menacing than all the men there combined. Some of them took a few stumbling steps away, as he moved in their direction.

"Bella," he purred, looking blackly at the man who whose hand was on her. "I was wondering where you were."

She said nothing, stunned by his arrival. Terrified by his appearance.

The man let go abruptly, catching a look at Edward's face.

Bella felt the chill of Edward's hand as he very gently pressed it to her back with a whispered, "let's go."

He held the door for her. As she got in, she saw him scan the space, taking in the faces before him. Like he was memorizing them.

Once inside the car, he murmured, "put your seatbelt on."

She did, shakily.

Then he set the book she hadn't realized she'd dropped onto the console, and backed out of the space.

"Please say something to me."

"What?" she asked.

"Distract me," he barked.

She looked around for something to offer comment on. The lights on the dashboard glowed red, casting their light over his features. Between this, and the yellow of the streetlights, his taut face cast an otherworldly orange back at her.

"You should put your seatbelt on."

He laughed, as if this was ridiculous. "Keep going."

She caught a glance of the vertical speedometer. "And please slow down!"

More laughing. "Keep talking."

"Why?" Her heart was smacking into her chest almost painfully.

"So I don't go back and do something to those men."

"Why would you do that?" He was still driving too quickly. She dug her fingers into the leather of the seat edge, wondering if she was damaging it.

"Do you have any idea what they were thinking? What they were planning?"

"How would you?" she shot back. "Know what they were thinking?"

His laughter was more forced. "Just a turn of phrase."

"How'd you find me?"

"Your phone."

"What?"

"Your phone is trackable."

She wanted to chuck it out the window. He'd tracked her phone? How? And more importantly, why? Glancing around the car, she saw no sign of any equipment beyond the dashboard display. Nothing unusual. Looking sideways at him, she saw that the speedometer needle had receded a few degrees. At least he'd slowed down. The streets he was hurling them down were becoming more crowded.

"Thank you," she said. "For finding me." She was at least glad to be pulled from where she'd been.

Now he was pulling over.

"Where...are we going?" There were parked in front of a restaurant that backed onto a small hotel, if the signage was correct.

And she understood why he'd tracked her.

He was finally collecting on what he'd bought.

"Do you feel cold?" he asked. He was pulling off his jacket.

"No." Her voice shook.

"You're shaking."

He opened the door and came around the other side, opening hers. "Here," he said, his jacket folded over one arm, his hand open to help her out.

She didn't suppose she could hide in his car, so she stood. He slipped the jacket over her shoulders. "Have you eaten?"

"No," she said again, shaking her head. Everything shaking.

"You're cold. Let's go inside." He held his hand out in the direction of the restaurant. The hotel.

"Billy will be expecting me at home." It was the lamest of attempts, but it was all she could muster.

"Of course," Edward said, "but you need to eat something."

She was trying to unearth her thinking mind. It was too well buried in panic and fear to be of any use. She had no doubt what those men had wanted, and now she could only see Edward through the same lens.

The same scene that had played out in Seattle played out in this restaurant: a generous tip, and a private place. Was he arranging a room too?

"Make it two, please," Edward told the waitress, when Bella asked for a cola.

He pushed both towards her when they came.

"I'm worried you're going into shock. Please drink them."

She couldn't stomach her fear though, anymore. "Why are you here? Why am I here, with you?"

"Would you have preferred i left you there, with those men?" he asked, his face tightening, eyebrows lifting.

"No." She shook her head.

"Please drink something," he said more softly.

She did, and he seemed to relax, seeing it. Her mind began following more logical points, now, the sugar lessening the tremble in her hands.

"You said you could hear their thoughts."

He seemed to consider this for a moment, eyes narrowing. His hand flicked towards his pocket, and then back to the table. "Yes."

"You can hear thoughts?" Her own eyes crinkled.

"Everyone's but yours."

Her eyebrows swept her hairline. "Not mine."

"No."

She wondered what was wrong with her that he couldn't, and frowned, staring at the table.

The waitress interrupted this rumination, arriving to ask their order. Edward waved away his own, gesturing to Bella instead. "Um, this please," she said, pointing to the first thing that caught her eye. The woman kept her eyes on Edward the entire time.

His remained on Bella's.

When the waitress left, he went on. "But I'd really like you to tell me—what you're thinking." He sounded earnest.

Or was it anxious?

It was so hard to tell.

"I'm wondering why you can't hear mine, If there's something wrong with me."

He barked out a disbelieving laugh. "I tell you I can read minds, and you wonder what's wrong with you, that I can't hear your thoughts. I told you that you were remarkable."

"Isn't that why you bought me—that night?"

"Oh no," he said, shaking his head, "I wish."

"Why then?"

"What I told you then was true, Bella." This was said with a bitter twist to his mouth.

"But it's not the real reason. Why?" She took another sip of her drink.

His fingers curled into something fist-like on the table. "I wanted you in a way I had no right to."

She looked down, grimly accepting what she'd suspected. She shrugged. "You've more than paid for it. I'm not surprised you've come to collect it. I'm assuming that's why you tracked my phone."

His sharp breath in was audible. "You think—." He paused, hands now flat on the table top. "Please look at me," he asked softly.

She only flicked her gaze up, and then shoved it back down. He'd been staring, his eyes almost trying to snatch hers.

"Do you really think that's why?"

"It's what whores do, Edward." The words were bitter. Clipped.

"You are not that," he said forcefully.

Her gaze was quizzical. It didn't make sense that he refuted this.

"You're wrong, Bella. Yes, I wanted you, but not in that way."

It was the most ironic feeling, that punch in the gut, of rejection, for the thing you didn't realize you wanted. She could barely tell which way was up. She didn't want that. She wanted—God help her, she wanted him.

It was so confusing.

And what did he want then?

"You're the most alluring woman I've ever met, but no, I didn't want you for that."

Now she blushed angrily. "Then what?"

"Have you not put this together yourself? Have the Blacks' stories, and reactions to me not been enough?" He looked at the book he'd brought in from the car. "There's a reason I wanted you to go with them and not me."

Bella remembered the open animosity Jacob and Billy had shown Edward, despite his freeing her. The stories Harry had told. And the speed he'd tried to convince her she hadn't seen.

"You're not like anyone I've ever met," she said, her voice low.

"How?" he asked, leaning forward, gaze intent and focused.

"You're always cold. And you never eat, or drink, that I can tell." She bit her lip. "You listen—you really listen." She glanced up at him again. "And apparently you hear people's thoughts." She looked around the restaurant, a quizzical expression on her face.

"You don't believe me."

"It's a lot to…give credit to," she admitted.

"The waitress is planning on giving me her name and number with the bill."

Bella rolled her eyes, the sudden relief of a laughing smile making her ribs ache. "That is hardly reading anyone's mind. You just...affect people."

His face fell a little. "Yes, I do. Hardly something to be proud of."

"Mm," she said noncommittally, considering how he affected her.

"What other conclusions have you drawn?" he pressed.

"Your eyes change colour," she murmured. "And so do your father's."

He gave a tiny nod.

"And you're...fast. You were so far away when I fell. Then you were...there." Then she looked at him, eyes questioning again. "Why did you say you wanted me in a way you had no right to?"

"What do you think I meant?"

She was very close to something. She just couldn't quite tell what, but it unnerved her, as he did. As all men now did. She avoided the question, looking down again, swirling her straw around in her drink. "Well you don't suffer from a lack of confidence."

That grin, the one that spread slowly and not quite evenly, made its slow way across his face, and the corners of his eyes crinkled.

It made her insides feel more liquid than her drink. She had to wait a bit before speaking again, clearing her throat. "So aside from this vague, dark motive of yours that want me to guess, why do you keep turning up to be my personal white knight?"

The crinkle at the eyes disappeared. "I'm not the white knight, Bella."

"What are you, the bad guy?" She snorted. "Think you missed a few key moves if you are."

He didn't respond, looking at her from under half-closed eyelids.

"Why?" she persisted, "Why do you keep turning up to rescue me?"

"Because I want to earn your trust."

She blinked. "You—why?"

"I've never met anyone like you, Bella. And you have no idea what you are. How incredible you are."

She shook her head. He had it all wrong.

"See?" he said, watching. "You most certainly do suffer from a lack of confidence." Then he frowned, "and food. You don't eat enough."

This was so jarring a change, she laughed again, shaking her head.

"Please," he said. "Eat."

Her eyes narrowed, but with a good natured shrewdness. "In exchange for what?"

"You feel you're in a position to negotiate here?" he asked playfully.

"If you want my trust? Yes."

"Alright. Make some guesses, I'll let you know if you're right."

"No questions?"

"No," he shook his head and smiled.

She thought about it for a second. "Deal." Then took a bite of her dinner.

He watched her chew, and think. "Is your necklace new?"

Her hand went to it automatically. Almost protectively. Like she wanted to hide it.

"Yes," she said. "I liked the colour."

"It suits you."

She could feel the colour slide up her cheeks, not used to his compliments. When she went to open her mouth, though, the heat only intensified.

"What?" he asked.

"This is so embarrassing," she mumbled.

He cocked his head to the side, waiting. "I won't laugh."

"Radioactive spider bite?"

His grin stretched the limits of decency, but he didn't, as promised, actually laugh. "Not by a long shot."

She went to speak again, but he pointed to her plate, and she chewed too quickly through another bite.

"Insane genetic mutation?"

He shook his head.

The guesses went on, and the food on her plate diminished, the conversation becoming more general.

"Watch," he mouthed to her, when the waitress brought the bill.

Sure enough, Bella could see her name and number slipped under it as she handed it to him.

"I can get it," Bella said, fishing for her wallet.

"But it was my idea, and I'd like to buy you dinner," he said. "After all, you think I'm the white knight." His grin flared wide again.

Outside the restaurant, Bella called Billy to let him know she'd be starting home soon, and that she wouldn't need dinner.

She didn't mention who she was with.

As she hung up, she looked at the phone. Had he really tracked her with it? That sounded complex—difficult, even for someone so well resourced. She doubted this aspect of his story, but glancing at him, didn't say anything.

He was her own personal enigma, seasoned equally with beauty and fear.

He'd never demanded anything of her, but she was terrified he would. These anxieties were groundless, and receded minutely, each time she saw him. Other feelings she'd never felt were swimming beneath them, looking for eddys and spouts to escape through.

So confusing.

"Where's your car?" Edward asked, as they approached his.

"Oh, I can probably walk from here," she said. "It's just a few blocks that way."

"Then I'll walk you."

When they arrived at her truck, he looked at her in disbelief. "This, is your vehicle?"

"Yes," she said, feeling a little defensive. "My dad bought it for me."

Edward clamped his lips shut, obviously silencing more explicit, and uncharitable descriptions. "Why don't I go with you?" he suggested.

"Um, but what about your car?" she asked.

"Easily retrieved."

"But that means—"

"I'd rather see you safely home."

"I'll be fine, really—"

"You've had a shock, Bella. Would you...humour me?" he asked. "Please?"

He leaned forward, just slightly, letting the breath of these words be carried over her face by the waft of the night air.

It was stunning. Literally. Any reason for saying no melted away.

"It's...just...it's an inconvenience. For you," she said, not sure why he would want to go with her. Why it wasn't a bad idea.

"Perhaps you'd let me drive?" he suggested, closing the gap between them by marginal inch.

"Um, sure?"

Inside the cab, her protective instincts flared. "Be gentle. She's old."

"I'll be a perfect gentleman with your truck." His next smile left her wordless.

He was true to his word, listening to its strain when they reached the highway, settling into a careful speed.

For the first time, he talked about his family, and she learned that he was one of five children, all grown, most of them home from university. All adopted.

"And yet you and your adoptive father have the same eye colour," she observed, looking sideways at him.

Some ten minutes west of Forks, he pulled over. "Think you can get the rest of the way yourself?"

"You're getting out here?" she asked increduosly, looking at the dark stretch of road.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because this is where Quileute land begins."

She remembered the derisive comments Paul had made about the Cullens.

"I'm sure they'll understand, Edward—"

"No," he said firmly. "One of my siblings will be happy to come get me. Trust me. I'll be fine. But you should go home." He'd opened the door, his nose up, as if he was smelling for something. "Go straight home," he said, looking around as he saw her to the driver's side.

"No plans to go anywhere else," she sighed. "I have school tomorrow."

He caught her eye, a definite smirk on his face. "Can't say I envy you that."

"High school?" she snorted. "No. I imagine not."

"You don't like school?"

"I like learning, just...not school."

"Well, perhaps I can lessen its suffering then. Meet me for lunch?"

"At school?"

"I'll bring lunch. How's that?"

After a moment, she said, "OK. Where?"

"In the parking lot." Then he grinned, the moonlight making his teeth shine, "by your truck. But go home now. I'll see you then."

"Night," she called, watching the dark dim his form as he strode towards the tree line.

A few minutes later, when she searched her rearview mirror for his form, he was gone.

DISCLAIMER: S. Meyer owns Twilight.