A/N for 2018-11-09: Thanks folks, for your follows and comments. A few of you pointed out a pretty big plot hole, in that Bella's emancipation would need to be approved by a judge. Feedback appreciated. I've changed that line in the last chapter to reflect that, so it reads: "It felt surreal, leaving, [Bella's] independence only needing a judge's approval to be official."

As for this chapter: it has vexed me—greatly—which is why it's taken so long for me to get this out. I'm nervous about posting, and would appreciate hearing your critique on any problems with character and plot development. So, if something sits wrong with you about it, I want to hear.

Cheers,

Erin

~ Home ~

As they pulled up in front of her house, Edward eyed Bella. There were grey shadows under her eyes, and he'd caught her rubbing at them, stifling a yawn.

She wanted to clean the house—and he couldn't argue with the need. Yesterday, the coating of several month's dusty accumulation had left her wheezy, and red-eyed.

Of course, he'd had his own part to play in that.

She needed help, in so many different ways, and yet she was so averse to asking for, or taking it.

It would've been nothing for him to pay for her groceries—nothing. But she'd insisted on doing it herself. Even then, he knew she'd put back things she needed or wanted. He could go buy them, and leave them when she was sleeping, but he doubted she'd like, or even accept such assistance.

And what she had asked for. His chest tightened, just considering it. She had no idea how dangerous it would be.

It was a battle on two fronts, that refusal, shoving away both her request, and his own monstrous desire to capitulate to it.

God, he wanted her, and it was only the thought of what he might do, kept ever present in his mind, that stopped him.

He could not hurt her. Ever.

When she shut off the engine to her truck, he didn't even bother asking about taking things inside. His senses assured him that there was no one around, so he had everything into the house before she pulled herself, and her backpack from the front of the truck.

"Wait," she said, looking at the empty truck bed in alarm, then at him. Her shoulders relaxed slightly, "Did you just—"

"Take it all inside? Yes."

"Thank you," she said, the wrinkle between her eyebrows still there. "Weren't you worried about someone seeing you, though?"

Edward chuckled a little, and tapped his head. "No. No one around right now."

He picked up the backpack she'd let slip down her arm, feeling her arm tense to grab it.

"Let me help you, Bella, please."

"You have helped me," she said, keeping a tight grip on the bag, and starting to walk towards the house. "If I mean to live alone, I need to be able to take care of myself."

"That doesn't mean you need to do it alone."

"People do."

He sighed quietly, watching her march inside.

She put the bag down on the dining room table with a dusty thump.

"You up for some cleaning, Mr. Helpful?" There was a glint in her eye.

She didn't think he was.

Perfect. She couldn't blame him when he got it all done then.

"Certainly." He unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt, rolling the sleeves up his forearms so that the fabric sat bunched just above his elbow.

She swallowed, looking at him. The quick breaths, and blush that pinked her cheeks told him she wasn't thinking about cleaning.

He wasn't either.

"I'll start upstairs," he said, throat suddenly tight with feeling. He needed to distract himself from the palpable want in the room. Badly.

He sprinted up the stairs before she could say no. Finding a bucket, and what he assumed were cleaning cloths, he began wiping down the walls, and all the other hard surfaces in the two bedrooms. As the water darkened, he sloshed it out into the tub, replenishing it. After a few minutes, the dusting was done, and he found the mop, and then the vacuum, putting both to good use.

That was the upstairs.

It had been seven minutes.

He could hear Bella, still putting things away in the kitchen, items rattling in the cupboards.

It took him five more minutes to repeat the procedure downstairs.

When he was done with the vacuum, she came out from the kitchen. "Um, Edward?" She looked around, a finger tentatively touching the wall, rubbing it against her thumb. Then she looked at him. "Did you just clean my entire house?"

He grinned. "No. Haven't touched the kitchen."

She laughed, stuttering with disbelief. "OK, not all of it then."

"But that will need to be cleaned, if you want to eat," he said, coming closer, taking her hand. "Why don't you go unpack, and I'll finish that up?" He lifted his chin towards the kitchen.

"I can clean, Edward."

"I don't doubt it, and you can clean all you want tomorrow, but tonight you look really tired. Go. Unpack. Then maybe you'll let me order some pizza?"

She pressed her forehead into his chest. "Pizza sounds awesome."

He leaned down and kissed the top of her head. "What kind?"

"Anything without pineapple."

He chuckled. "My last meal was a cougar. Maybe you can give me a bit more guidance?"

"Pepperoni," she murmured into his chest. Her breath was warm there, and her hands had made themselves comfortable just at his waist. Before their proximity could morph into something else, he pulled away as slowly. "I'll go get started then."

As he cleaned, he phoned in an order for pizza, using the number from the menu stuck to the fridge.

The kitchen was dust free in a few minutes, and he waited at the counter, listening to Bella unpack upstairs, guessing at what she was doing from the sounds she made.

After a little while though, the sounds stopped, except for her breathing, and it had taken on a broken rhythm that he knew accompanied her tears.

He was at her door, hand poised to push it open, but then he stopped, wondering if she needed this moment alone.

When he saw, through the crack, her hand fly to her mouth, stifling a sob, he spoke. "Bella?"

"Oh!" She jumped a little.

His nose hadn't misled him. There were tears on her cheeks, and some had found their way to the bedspread. Her hand trailed over it, tracing some pattern he couldn't see.

"My Dad bought this for me, just before I came."

He nodded, sitting down. He'd been waiting for her grief, speculating as to what shape it would take—shapes, he reminded himself. She had lost so much, in such a short period of time.

And now she would be alone, devoid of even the Blacks' company. He grimaced, sitting beside her on the bed. His feelings on this point were painfully mixed. She shouldn't be alone. She needed human company, and support, but he'd be lying if he didn't feel guiltily grateful that his access to her would be unfettered.

"You miss him," he said softly.

She nodded, wiping at her eyes. "I'm glad to be here, but it feels weird, you know, feeling sad too. We didn't have much time to get to know each other again. It feels like I'm not...entitled to it."

"He was your father, Bella. Of course you are."

"Sure, but-"

"It's not just him you're grieving."

Her quick nod was mute.

He squeezed her fingers gently.

"Sorry," she finally murmured.

"For what?"

"Falling apart all the time. Being a mess"

It pained him to hear her say this, especially when it was repeated so frequently. "You're not." He frowned again. Her tenacity, and grace under such circumstances continued to awe him. Most people her age would have been too afraid to speak up for themselves, let alone leave the security of a home—even as discordant as the foster and group homes she'd left.

Telling her this hadn't produced the effect he desired.

"You're not, so we'll have to agree to disagree there." He moved his hand to her back, rubbing it gently.

"I'm not normally so emotional." She wiped the backs of her hands across her face.

Automatically, Edward reached to his pocket, and then chuckled at this very old, and human instinct. Then he caught Bella's widened eyes. "Sorry, just laughing at myself. In my time, we all carried handkerchiefs. I seem to have forgotten I'm out of the habit these days."

Bella's laugh was a small bubbling of joy to him, hearing it fill the echoing space. "We're all creatures of our times, I suppose."

"We are." He rubbed his thumb across her cheek, brushing away the wetness there.

Now she looked down, the wrinkle between her eyebrows prominent again. "Is that why you said no, because—" she shrugged, clearly not sure of, or comfortable with the words she needed.

He grasped her meaning instantly.

What a question.

"No, and yes."

He was surprised she'd brought this up. She'd been eager to avoid it earlier today.

She nodded, the fleshy wrinkle still on her forehead. "I'm sorry. That must have made you really uncomfortable. We've just started seeing each other, and you must think—"

"That I love you, very, very much," he finished for her, wanting to preempt further self-deprecating commentary. "And if I'd said yes, even if I could—and no, I don't think you appreciate how much danger you'd be in, with us being together that way—I'd be taking advantage of you, Bella."

"I asked, Edward—"

"You did, and I meant what I said earlier, Bella, that I was sorry to say no. Not just because I don't think you're ready, but because I have no right to be with you at all."

"What do you mean by that?"

"You're alive, Bella, and you have the gift of a changing life—of growth, and age, and even children, if you want them. I can't give you a normal life."

"I want you, Edward. The other things don't matter."

He grimaced, knowing how it would gall her to hear this. "You say that now, Bella, but you're young yet."

The wash of red that flew up her cheeks didn't surprise him.

She stood up stiffly. Her words were loud and angry as they rattled in the almost empty room. "I've had to listen to a lot of people tell what I am, and what I have to do. I don't need more of it, and I don't need to be told I'm too young to know what I want."

"I don't doubt you know what you want, but I'm not so sure about the things you say you don't want." He stood up, stepping closer to her. She had put her hands on the window ledge, facing the cool glass there.

She turned abruptly. "Why is it you get to be so certain of things, Edward? And I don't?"

It took him aback. "You do, Bella."

"Do I? You tell me that us being together is impossible. How do you know? I doubt you've done any research on that front."

He blinked in shock.

"Or have you?" Her jaw clenched around the words, and her eyebrows shot up, waiting for his answer.

"I—no. I haven't been with anyone, Bella."

"Then you don't know."

He didn't. He could only imagine, and that was enough to terrify him. "No, and I won't risk your life in experimenting."

Her tears were sudden, and silent, but they took her voice, and she shook her head as he put his hands on her upper arms.

"What is it?"

After a moment, she swallowed. "Is that really it—you're afraid of hurting me? Physically, emotionally? Or is it something else?"

"Those are my only reasons, Bella. Nothing else."

She pulled in a big breath. "It isn't because—of what I showed you?"

His heart clenched painfully. "No," he hushed out. "No," he said again, and circled his arms around her, trapping her head under his chin.

They stayed that way, her breath warming his chest.

He dared to hope the conversation begun the day before was over.

He was wrong.

"Edward," she whispered. "If we waited, until we were ready—"

"Bella—"

"If we waited, would you at least...try?"

He closed his eyes and breathed out, and a shudder rippled through him. His mind was too eager to give shape to the horrifying, bloody, and bone-cracking possibilities such a union might produce.

"Please?" Her head turned into his shirt, and now the warmth there was wet with her tears. "Please?" Her voice grew higher and faster. "Because I don't want to remember what I remember. I want to remember something better—and if you don't want to be with me because of what I've been, I'll get it, but if—"

"Bella, it isn't—"

"Please just—please just try, Edward. That's all I'm asking—" Her voice was high and tremulous, shaking and wet with tears.

It was abhorrent, watching her suffer. So when he blurted out, "We can try," it was with equal parts relief, and horror.

What had he just done?

Had he really just—

"Thank you," she breathed. Her lips were hot over his cold ones, but the contact was light.

His body felt dislocated from itself, horror, hope, and desire all warring for a place to happen.

This was all interrupted by a very singular set of thoughts moving closer to them—those of Jacob Black.

He didn't break their contact. She'd returned her head to his chest, resting it there, breathing calming slowly. He listened to the stream of unhappy ruminations coming from the boy. He was alone, it seemed, and in his human form.

There were snatches of things that Edward wanted to see more of, and others he wished weren't so loudly thought.

"Were you expecting company?" he asked Bella.

"No, why?"

"Jacob is here to see you."

She pulled back abruptly, face pinched angrily.

"No, then?"

"No," she mumbled, sighing unhappily. "I asked Billy to call if they were coming by. I'll go see what he wants."

Edward's hand shot out, icy on her forearm. "Let me go with you."

She eyed him. "I can handle Jacob."

"It isn't you I doubt."

She shrugged, and jogged down the stairs.

Jacob's knock was louder than it needed to be.

The angry thoughts were pointed now—he'd smelled a vampire's presence. His speculation as to the source did nothing to calm him.

When Bella opened the door though, he was holding together an awkward smile.

"Hey."

"Hi, Jake. I forget something?"

Jacob's eyebrows rose, and Edward stiffened behind Bella, a hand ready to yank her out of the way, if needed.

Not needed yet.

Yet.

"Like saying goodbye? Seriously, I come home to find you gone? What is that?"

"Me leaving, Jake."

"Why, Bella?" This was spoken softly, accompanied by him leaning in closer, his form almost hunching over Bella's.

Edward's hand twitched, fighting the urge to move her behind him. Jacob's memories were clarifying, and just why Bella had left was too. His breath hissed in, and Jacob looked up at him, features instantly hardening. Then he looked back at Bella.

"I need to be on my own," Bella said, but there was an uncertainty to her voice.

She was nervous, Edward realized.

"I can see that's working out real well." He looked back at Edward.

Bella turned back to him. "Give us a minute?"

Edward hesitated, for good reason, before answering.

"Please?"

It was like being skewered, hearing that word from her. He found himself murmuring, "Of course," in disbelief, and then moving a short distance away, ears and mind focused on what was transpiring between them.

"This doesn't look like you being on your own, Bella."

"He's helping me get set up."

"We would have done that for you, Bella."

"Thank you," she said, voice even.

Jacob huffed out a breath. He was frustrated, but it wasn't dangerous. His next words were soft enough that Edward knew he was trying to keep them private to he and Bella. "I'm sorry, about last night. I think I freaked you out."

Edward pulled in a sharp lungful of air, seeing what Jacob remembered. He held still, telling himself that doing anything else would only frighten Bella.

"Yes, but it made me realize that it can't work, me living with you and your dad. You won't ever be OK with Edward and I, and I don't want to have that where I live."

"Bella, please come back. We can protect you—"

"No." Her voice quavered. Then the "No," was louder, and Jacob's thoughts told Edward that he'd tried to take her hand.

He had Jacob on the driveway in under a second, Edward's hand holding Jacob at arm's length.

"Don't. Touch. Her."

He released Jacob's arm, stepping back, every muscle straining in defense of Bella.

Jacob said nothing for the time, shaking and twitching, his control slipping, a surly growl bubbling out of his throat.

Edward returned the sound, and then moved closer to the stairs, putting himself between Jacob's inconstant shape, and Bella's trembling one.

"Go!" he hissed, "if you care for her so much!" He was through with letting this creature near Bella. She'd been more than polite, and Jacob had stepped over the line she'd drawn.

Full of surliness and resentment, Jacob turned, at least seeing the sense in leaving. His path took him straight into the woods.

When Edward turned to face Bella, it was to see her gripping the edge of the door frame, knuckles white.

He was there instantly, making her start backwards. He didn't try to catch her, worried it would only agitate her more. He did hold out a hand to her, but she ignored it, turning and sitting down in one of the dining room chairs.

At a purposefully human pace, he sat down beside her, disturbed by the colour draining from her cheeks.

"Bella?"

She didn't respond, her jaw and eyebrows working, like she wanted to say something, but couldn't quite muster the words.

The silence was deafening.

Finally, she spoke in a muffled whisper. "Anyone could come here."

Edward's eyebrows drew together. "What?"

"Anyone."

Did she think he'd leave her unprotected?

"There are windows on the main level that could be broken—"

"Bella, you're safe—"

"The lock on the door isn't the best. I bugged Charlie about fixing it for when I visited him last time—"

"Bella, I won't let anything happen—"

"It would just take a rock to—"

Now he put his hand to her cheek. "You're safe here, Bella. I promise."

Her body was taking its own course, all the blood stealing away form the frantic and implausible suggestions of her panicked mind.

She put her head down on the table, breathing, but not talking.

Edward's anxiety was only growing. He ignored her frail, "I'm fine!" and picked her up, carrying her to the sofa, where he laid her down, feet elevated.

"You don't look fine. Humour me."

"I'm just—"

"Fine. I know. Just stay put, please for a bit." She was trying to sit up, and he let his hand rest lightly on her shoulder.

After she put her head back down, she closed her eyes. "OK. Maybe I'm not fine."

"Bella, what did you mean by 'anyone could come here'?"

"Don't," she warned, a hand up. "Just...I…" Then she did sit up, flushed and angry suddenly, and the sounds that Edward had thought he'd heard the day before, were most certainly there, and he realized what they were: her thoughts.