A/N: There's no possible way I will keep this pace. . . chores are piling up around me. Yes, my kids do like to wear clean clothes. However, as long as the words keep coming, I'll keeping writing/posting as quickly as I have the chapters edited and ready to go. Thanks for all your support of this story. Agent Masen gives you a fist bump.

Bella was finally getting used to the early morning runs. On Friday morning, the faster pace was grueling, but she managed not to fall behind. Agent Masen had her doing push ups, crunches and chin ups after they completed their three mile circuit around the neighborhood. Her muscles burned but she felt strong, like her heart and lungs were doing their job more efficiently than they ever had before. She could tell that her body was producing more endorphins in response to her increased activity and it felt incredible.

Masen smiled a lot that morning. They returned to Tanya's office and looked through the files together, sharing observations and trading theories about possible patterns. Bella was impressed by Masen's ability to recall specific details like travel itineraries and names that popped up in multiple places. By lunch time her mental map of the Volturi network was much more detailed, with clear lines running between certain business, political, financial and criminal entities.

"There's something else we're going to have to work on. We will almost certainly meet many of these people in person. You cannot react as if there is any level of recognition. Major emotions are easy to mimic. Micro-expressions reflecting more complex thoughts and emotions are harder to simulate and control. They are based in deeply ingrained instincts and can often project thoughts you would rather keep hidden. We'll practice in the mirror some time."

"Disarming drills and drama tutoring. The recruiter never said anything about them," Bella laughed.

"You're special."

"In my generation that is rarely a compliment."

"Or maybe it's a rare compliment," he replied. His eyes were fixed on his computer screen but the warm humor in his voice was almost tangible.

"Thank you. For the compliments and for the lessons."

"It's all about survival, rookie. Can't have you blowing our cover."

Bella let out an exaggerated sigh. "Just when I thought the overbearing taskmaster was warming up to me, you have to say something like that."

"What are you kids giggling about?" Tanya asked as she pulled up a chair beside them.

"Giggling? I'm not sure if I can really imagine Agent Masen giggling."

"It's all relative, Agent Swan. A smile for him is equivalent to outright laughter for the average human being." Agent Tanya Filipovna was eyeing her shrewdly. It made her uncomfortable.

"He laughs," Bella replied hesitantly, a bit confused.

"He does?" Tanya turned to him, her eyebrows raised. "You do?"

"As entertaining as it is to have you ladies discussing me and my vocal variations, I've got an appointment to keep and I need a ride back to Ms. Swan's place to collect some things."

"Right. Sure. Let me know when you're ready to go," Bella said, looking back and forth between the two older agents. Some unspoken communication had passed between them, but she couldn't put her finger on what it was. Tanya stood up and excused herself. Bella watched Masen, but he was silent now, engrossed in his computer display. Ten minutes later they were packing up and saying goodbye.

"If I come across anything else of interest, I'll contact you."

"I appreciate that. Thanks, Tanya. Take care," he said.

"You, too. Both of you."

Bella felt Tanya's gaze on them as the left the small office. Something had changed. After their training session at the firing range, it had almost felt like they were becoming friends. She had only known Agent Masen for a few days but she felt comfortable with him. Speaking or silent, running or sitting still, his presence was. . . solid, reassuring, real. She still felt that way, but there was more distance now, like a veil hung between them.

They stopped for sandwiches on the way home. Masen was quiet and withdrawn compared to how he had been that morning. He wasn't as stiff or intimidating as he had been at the beginning of the week, but there was definitely more restraint in his facial expressions and conversation.

"Is something wrong?" she asked, toying with her straw.

"Why would you ask that?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe because I haven't seen you smile for the last hour."

"What do I have to smile about?" he asked seriously as he took another giant bite of his sandwich, chewed and swallowed, washing it down with iced tea.

"I have no idea. You just seem, I don't know, subdued or something. Never mind. It's stupid."

"No. It's not stupid. But I am curious. Who or what do you think could be responsible for 'subduing' me?"

"I have no clue."

"Hmm," he responded, giving nothing away.

They finished their lunch and headed back to her apartment. Bella watched with her nose wrinkled in distaste as Masen changed back into his filthy clothes and jacket.

"Are you going to tell me where you're going?"

"The Metro Union train station."

"I'm sorry. . . what? Why?"

"It's where I stay. When I'm in town. Sometimes."

"So what about my disarming training?"

"Check your email. We'll review when I get back. Do you have a rolling pin?"

"Do I look like Betty Crocker?" Bella stood with her hands on her hips. She had almost been having fun that morning. Something in their dynamic had shifted and she didn't like it.

Masen paused, looking her over as if he was actually considering her question. "Hardly."

"Well, what do you need a rolling pin for?"

"I need you to hit me. But I don't want you to mess up your hand."

"Would a frying pan do the trick?" She was being facetious. When Masen told her it would work fine her jaw dropped. "You don't actually want me to hit you. . ."

"Want? No. But I need you to. Just hard enough to leave a mark. I need it to heal within a week." He dug through her cabinets until he found the frying pan she used to cook eggs. "This will do."

He passed the pan to her and Bella stood awkwardly with it hanging loosely in her hand.

"I don't know about this. . ."

"Take a couple practice swings against this." He held a throw pillow up to the side of his face. "I want you to hit me right about here," he said, pointed to the left side of his jaw. "But keep the angle low. I don't want a cut. Choke up a bit on the handle. Good, Just like that. . . Again. . . Excellent. Now, take a swing," he said, dropping the pillow and keeping his eyes fixed on hers.

Bella swung as instructed, closing her eyes at the last second. The feeling of the frying pan striking his jaw was sickening. There was a thud and a crack and the sensation of flesh and bone being compressed and rebounding against the improvised weapon in her hands. She staggered back against the counter ,hugging the pan to her chest, waiting for Masen to yell or curse or react in a halfway human manner.

He moved his jaw experimentally back and forth, his fingers probing the rapidly swelling mark. "Perfect. Thanks. I'll be back by 8. We'll review your technique then." He saluted as he left, just as he had the other morning.

When she heard the lock click into place, she put the pan on the counter and sagged into one of the chairs at the dinette set. She felt like she had a handful of puzzle pieces in her hand, but very few connected to one another. The blank spaces between yawned like chasms at her feet. She rested her head in her hands, holding on tight to fight the dizzying rush of vertigo.

When was any of it going to start making sense?

A/N: I'm betting that frying pan is no longer perfectly round. Thank you to Disney's 'Tangled' for inspiring this particular scene.