A/N: Thanks to everyone who's taking a chance on this one.

The awesome Zigster made a banner for this fic...you can find it in my profile.

Big thanks & love to my own personal dream team: Char, Gin, Caren & Ash - they help make my words purdy and my ideas not suck so bad.

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, I just come up with random things for them to do.

Bella

I roll over, and the harsh glare of the red numbers taunts me. It's one AM. If I want to get any real sleep, I need to leave now and go back to my place. The heavy arm around my waist feels comforting and right, and I hate having to sneak away from it. I've learned my lesson, though, after a few mistakes in the past when I just could not find it in myself to leave. There's no way I can face what will most likely happen in the morning if I stay.

I make the ten minute drive back to my apartment in eight and fall down on my bed. Sleep quickly pulls me under.

"Never gonna give you up! Never gonna let you down!"

I groan, pissed off that my own alarm clock has Rick Rolled me. Although, I have to say that a little Astley in the morning is far preferable to the loud, blaring noise of the monotonous alarm I used before switching to the radio. Either way, it really doesn't matter. It's still five in the morning, and that sucks. I roll over, peering at the empty space next to me and close my eyes, imagining it full and warm for one second.

Just. One. Second.

That's all I'll allow before hoisting myself out of bed and into the shower where the hot water wakes me up and hides the tears that slide down my face. I make a quick pot of coffee, knowing I'll end up having my fair share today, and then it's back to the bedroom to get dressed. Clothes are strewn all over the floor, and I can't tell which are clean and which are dirty. At the end of a long, stressful day, I usually end up stripping my clothes off and tossing them aside, sometimes aiming for the laundry basket and other times missing completely. It's not like it matters anyway. There's nobody here to remind me to clean up or roll his eyes when something's a smidge out of place.

I finally locate a decently clean pair of jeans and a non-stained top. They'll do. The coffee is ready, and I rush to make myself a cup. In doing so, I spill it all over me. I almost don't feel the scalding liquid seep through my shirt, but I'm not completely numb. The tender pink mark it leaves flares into a deep red, and I grab an ice pack to press over it. Tossing the now stained shirt into the bathroom sink, I hunt for something else to wear. An old, worn t-shirt that is too big for me is balled up in a corner of the closet. I pick it up, debating whether or not to wear it, but I know I'll never chance getting it dirty. That would mean I'd have to wash it.

I bring the shirt up to my face and breathe in, transporting myself to a time not too long ago. My nose tingles as stinging tears prick at the corners of my eyes. Pressing my lips to the shirt, I place it down on the bed and notice the glaring red numbers on my clock.

Shit!

I'm going to be late. I spot a tank top on the ground and put it on without even bothering to check if it's clean. My apron will cover it up if it isn't. I don't have time to bother with it at the moment.

I hustle and pull into my spot in the alley behind the coffee shop and let out a sigh of relief. I'm only a minute late. I pull down the visor and flip open the mirror, cringing at what looks back at me. I swipe some foundation over the dark purple circles under my eyes, products of fitful, sleepless nights. There's not much to do for the seemingly permanently etched lines in my forehead, so I grab my hair and toss it into a somewhat presentable bun. A coat of lipgloss is all I can be bothered with, and I throw it back in the glove compartment before grabbing my key to open up.

Alice is already there, standing at the back entrance with her eyes closed as she bops along to whatever music is pelting through her earbuds. She looks so happy...so carefree, and her ease and lightness spread to me as a smile finds its way to my face. My cheeks almost hurt from it. Those muscles have rarely had a chance to stretch lately. I'm careful not to spook her and gently jostle her shoulder so she knows I'm there. Her pint-sized body melds itself to mine in a hug, and I can't help but hug her back. We walk into the kitchen with our arms around each other and stand there staring at it as the lights flicker on.

I let her know what we should get started with, and without talking, we dive in head first. We both toss on our aprons, and Alice plugs her iPod into a set of speakers. Then, we move around the kitchen, partners in this dance that we have done for a while. We gather ingredients and mix, stir and bake for the next couple of hours. There is a moment of panic when I cannot find the raisins for a particular scone we make, and I narrowly avoid a full-blown anxiety attack. Alice's quick thinking and ability to calm me down saves the day when she remembers to look in the fridge.

"Sorry, Bella. I must have put them away in there instead of the pantry. But it's okay. We're fine. You're fine," she reassures me, rubbing my back.

A few deep breaths later, the buzzing in my skin and the beating of my heart slowly subside. An hour later and I have no time to think about raisins anymore. The line at the register hasn't stopped since seven this morning. It keeps me busy, however, and it certainly keeps my mind off other things, if only for a few moments here and there. Of course, it all crumbles when I see a young couple sitting at the table by a window, sharing a muffin. My stomach drops, and the painful pit in my stomach throbs, reminding me of what I used to have.

I hold it together, just barely, through the breakfast rush before I allow myself a second cup of coffee during a short lull. Alice peeks in from the back to check on me, and I let her know I'm fine. Or...as fine as I can be.

As the crowd picks up again, I find myself glancing at the clock, continually noting the time. My hands shake a bit, and I can feel a thin sheet of sweat coat my forehead. I try to take a deep breath and calm myself down, but between the completely aggravating customer in front of me and the two large coffees I've consumed, it's hard to do.

"I'm sorry sir," I repeat for what feels like the twentieth time. "While I am sympathetic to your desire for vegan friendly pastries, I simply cannot come up with a decent substitute for actual cheese in the danish. We do have a lovely selection of vegan-friendly muffins if you'd like to try those?"

My eyebrows furrow as I concentrate on not crying. I really don't need to deal with this asshole when I have one hundred other things on my plate. I do my best to think of some sort of compromise that will be acceptable to the die hard vegan in front of me, who's wearing leather shoes no less, when I feel the fine hairs on the back of my neck stand up on end. Without even seeing who it is, a wave of calm washes over me.

The man in front of me might as well not exist at the moment, as I revel in the light, relaxed feeling I'm experiencing. I look over and a pair of intense green eyes are staring right at me. For a moment or two, I hold out a glimmer of hope that maybe...maybe.

And then he turns away, averting his gaze as he fidgets uncomfortably.

My eyes close for a second, defeat flooding through me.