I know this website is being a whore, but if I'm done with a chapter, I can't just sit on it. I have to upload it. Hopefully it's not too bad, and you're able to read it. Hopefully when you read it, you'll like it.

Regardless, I'm so in love with all of you. This story is a big piece of my heart (sap time, oh yes)… so… thank you. Really. To all of you.

Thanks to beta Ali who WOULD NOT GO TO SLEEP and insisted on betaing.

xXxXx

As Free As We'll Ever Be

His hands whisper over her, writing ghostly lyrics on her skin. She rolls with him and lands on her back. His fingers skip down her ribs, playing her like a xylophone. She makes a noise, and he smiles at her music. His lips follow her squirms, and he quiets her with the yellow flash in his hazel eyes.

He bites at her hipbone, and it tickles. She nudges him with her pale thigh, and he bites that, too. He bites and bites and bites. It starts to hurt. She tries to jerk away, but he holds fast. She can feel his teeth. They're so sharp, like knives and razors and stingers. She screams and pushes at his head. He doesn't move. He begins to drink. She can feel the blood leaving her body, and she pleads with him.

He raises his face, and her blood is dripping from his teeth. From his mouth. He drags his lips back up her body, leaving a trail of red cells in his wake. He kisses her, and she tastes the coppery tang. She's crying. She's exhausted. He thanks her.

"I need good blood," he whispers in her ear.

Then she hears a familiar screech, and she shoots up in bed, her hand attached to her pounding heart.

"Shit," she curses, her breaths uneven and shaky. She reaches across to her nightstand and shuts off her alarm.

She swings her legs out of bed, checking the inside of her right thigh. It's unblemished, save for the small white stretch marks she accumulated when she was much younger. She grew to a whopping five four in fifth grade, making her the tallest in her class. She hasn't grown since, but the speedy shoot-up in height left her with tiny scars.

But no teeth marks. It felt so real – she could feel the pain, the fear, the adrenaline, and the desire. She can still feel those things. They are coursing through her like the blood she watched leave her body.

"I need good blood," she repeats. Details of the dream are quickly fading, but she doesn't know if she'll ever forget the way he kissed her with his bloody mouth and whispered those cryptic words to her.

It's a rainy Saturday morning, a week after their first date. She hasn't seen him outside of school since, but he's been in every class. He's looking much better – more rested, less sickly. It makes her happy and makes her worried at the same time. There's always a veil of seriousness around him, even when he's cracking jokes.

Emily is already awake when Bella shuffles into the kitchen.

"You're alive?" Emily looks shocked. "It's not even noon."

"Don't remind me," groans Bella. "I have to put in a couple hours at Esme's."

"Ew. Hey, make me one!"

Bella is throwing yogurt, ice and strawberries in the blender. "No way. I have to get going."

Emily holds up her hand. "Wait – don't turn that on. I think I hear your phone."

They're quiet for a moment, and Bella hears the generic tone of her ringer.

"Who is calling me at eleven AM on a Saturday?" She rushes back in the direction of her room. She picks up the phone from the floor, and Edward's name is flashing across the screen. "Hello?"

"Hey."

"Hey…"

"I didn't wake you up, did I?"

"No." She stifles a yawn.

He laughs. "I did!"

"No!" She's laughing, too. "You really didn't. I just woke up, though… like five minutes ago. What's up?"

"What are your plans for today?"

She clucks her tongue. "I have to put in some hours at work – at the studio. I skipped out yesterday because I had a migraine from Hell. Why?"

"Oh. Nothing. Never mind."

She knows him well enough by now to know he was going to ask for her company. She presses him. "No, come on. What?"

"It doesn't matter now."

"It totally does."

"It totally doesn't, valley girl."

"Don't mock me… what are you up to? Super bored?"

"No, super antsy. Just wanted to get out of the house."

She's trying not to smile and failing. He wants adventure, and he wants it with her. "Well, listen. I'm sure it's out of your way, but… I've let the miles run up on my car, and it's way overdue for an oil change so I really shouldn't be driving it. Feel free to say no, but I could really use a ride…" She's lying. Her car miles are fine. But she has to be subtle with him. He has a fragile ego.

"I'll be there in fifteen minutes." He hangs up. She's used to his non-goodbyes. She likes them. She never wants to say goodbye to him.

xXxXx

He's there fourteen minutes later, ball cap and all. She waves goodbye to Emily before darting down the slick stairs to his car. It's warm and comfortable when she slides in, apologizing for getting his leather seats all wet.

"That's the beauty of leather," he says, looking behind him as he reverses out of the parking spot. "It wipes right off." He grins at her. "Nice outfit."

"Shut up." She has a zip-up hoodie over her leotard and tights. She crosses her legs, embarrassed. "If I remember correctly… and I do, you said – "

"I remember what I said. I was being serious."

She scoffs. "Oh, right. 'Nice outfit, Bella.' That definitely means 'nice outfit,' not 'you look like an idiot.'"

He shrugs. "Believe what you want, but it's a waste of energy to think I'm lying. Plus, I didn't mean you looked pretty in your… dance whatever. I just like the no makeup, low maintenance thing. It works for you. You have freckles."

She touches her nose. "So? I hate them."

"Why?"

"They're stupid."

"They're… I don't know. You're really… beautiful." He kind of chokes on the word, like he's trying out a different language. "So… the sum of all things makes you that way. Don't hate a little part of the equation."

She thinks she's blushing. She hasn't blushed in years. She nudges his arm, trying to hide it. "Listen to you, mister poet laureate."

"Yeah, yeah." He turns up the radio, and they ride the rest of the way to studio in comfortable silence. When they arrive, it's pouring. She grumbles about all the hairspray in her hair and how the rain is going to make it all sticky. He peels off his jacket, and she catches a glimpse of his protruding collarbone.

"Here," he says. "For your precious hair."

"Always mocking me," she sighs. She opens the door and throws his warm jacket over her head. She runs, screeching the whole time, her flip-flops tossing water on the back of her legs.

He walks much slower, and he's soaked by the time he reaches the overhang. She hands him back his jacket, and he gives her this 'oh thanks' look. It cracks her up, and they walk into the studio laughing.

Esme is standing in the lobby, talking to a parent. She raises a very European eyebrow at Bella and Edward, and her lips lift in a smile. She turns back to the parent and excuses herself.

"Morning, cherie. A little late, non?" She turns to Edward. "May I take your coat?"

"Oh… um." He kind of fumbles with it, almost drops it, and then finally stuffs it into Esme's hands. "It's really wet. I'm sorry."

"Yes, this is what happens when it rains." She gives him a smile and drops a wink at Bella.

"This is Edward," Bella says, trying not to laugh. Men young and old always fall to pieces when they meet her timeless godmother. "Edward, this is my godmother, Esme. She owns this place, along with the responsibility for any dancing ability I may have."

"Very nice to meet you, Edward."

"Be nice to him," Bella warns.

"I am always nice," Esme assures. "Do you like coffee? Tea?" She loops her arm through his and leads him towards the back.

Bella watches them go, her heart strangely light and heavy at the same time.

xXxXx

The hours pass by quickly. She's so into teaching and encouraging and laughing, it startles her when Esme turns off the music.

"Time to go," she calls. "Wrap it up, girls."

"Do we want to show Madam Esme what we learned today?" Bella asks with an encouraging smile.

The girls agree, so Bella motions for Esme to start the song over. Bella gets in her place, back to the girls and face to the mirror. 'Dancing Queen' starts, and she does small movements to remind her girls where they're supposed to be in the dance, but lets them lead. They've only learned half of the routine Bella taught, but she finishes the rest of it as the girls watch.

"That's what you'll be learning in the next couple weeks," Bella promises. "I know it looks hard, but I know you guys can do it. We'll take it really slow, okay?" They're basic moves, but to little feet, anything looks daunting.

The girls pack up and give her hugs goodbye, and she turns towards the door. Edward is leaning against the doorjamb, his arms crossed over his chest. He's smiling at her, and she completely forgot he was here.

"Cute ass shaking, Swan," he calls.

Esme gives him a sharp look and makes a 'tsst' noise, indicating his language. He goes nearly purple and apologizes profusely. Esme pats him on the shoulder as she goes past.

"I'll be in the office," she tells Bella. "Let me know when you two leave."

Edward moves as the little girls file past. They stare up at him, and Bella can't help but smile. An attractive man is a pull for a girl, no matter their age.

Bella tightens her ponytail nervously as Edward approaches.

"You seem to really enjoy that," he says, putting his back against the mirror as she fiddles with the CD player.

"Dancing? Yeah… I do."

"Teaching," he clarifies. "You're good at dancing, but you love teaching. You're a natural. I was watching you pretty much the whole time… you looked really happy."

"They're great girls." She straightens up and looks at him. "What are you implying? I don't want to be a teacher. I could never stand in a classroom – "

"No. I didn't mean that. I meant… teaching dance. Taking over for Esme, or something. I mean, since she's leaving you the business and everything."

"She… she what?" She's completely blindsided. "Did she say that? When?"

"Oh… um. Maybe I wasn't –"

"Tell me what she said!"

"Relax, Bella. She just said that she made up her will a couple years ago, and she left this to you. She didn't tell you?"

"No! I'm going to –"

He grabs her wrist. "Don't. If you get mad at her about it, I think it may… really upset her. She looked really excited. I guess I wasn't supposed to say anything. I'm sorry. Just let her tell you, okay?"

She shakes her head. "She made her will? I don't… I hate that. I understand the practicality, but I can't imagine a world without her." She shakes her head. "She's healthy, though, so – "

"So was I."

Bella whirls around. "What?"

He's pursing his lips. His eyes are closed. He has 'I said too much' written all over him. "I'm just saying… disease and… and death don't just happen to unhealthy people."

She stares at him until he looks away.

"So… are you going to dance for me?"

She scoffs. "I'm not a stripper."

He laughs. "Such a shame." He dodges a slap. "Those pink shoes hanging out of your bag… the ballerina shoes. You didn't use them today."

She glances at her bag. Her pointe shoes are hanging out by the ribbons. "I don't teach pointe right now. No one signed up for the class this go-around."

"So why the shoes?"

She shrugs. "I like carrying them with me. Pointe was the first thing I really excelled at in dancing. It's easy to be a good dancer, but it's hard to be great. I was great."

He looks at her shoes, and then at her. "Show me."

She shakes her head. "No way. So you can just ogle me like a weirdo?"

"There will be no ogling." He holds up his hands. "I promise. Just admiration of the arts."

"That's the biggest load of – "

He puts his hands on her face. They're clammy and rough, but it's him, and he's touching her. "Please."

She's weak. So weak. She sighs and goes over to her bag, untying her shoes from the handles. She slides on the toe pads and slips her feet in the familiar warmth of her pointe shoes. She ties up her ribbons quickly, aware of his eyes following every loop. She walks on the flat bottoms of the shoes over to the CD player and changes it to the second CD. It's the one with generic classical ballet music – Tchaikovsky, Debussy and the like.

She settles into first position as the CD cranks up, and then lifts onto her toes. What comes out of the speakers is anything but classical music – it's a loud, raunchy R&B song. It must be from the adult hip-hop class, but surprisingly, her feet are carrying her.

She loses everything in her steps. She's not in the studio, and Edward is not in front of her. She's in some sort of place where time doesn't exist, only beats and rhythm and harmony and motion. Her hips twist as her toes point and kick, and it's this strange mix of sultry, suggestive swaying and classical pointe. She twirls with a long, elegant neck, and then bends into a move that Esme would be horrified to see. It's not the best dance in the world – it's choppy and strange and doesn't flow at all but it's coming from some strange, deep place inside of her and she's exhausted and crying and passionate and alive, so so so alive –

The music stops, and she drops to the floor. It's like she's been through an exorcism, and everything in her life has been sucked through the smallest hole in her body and then stuffed back in the biggest void in her life – her heart. It's so full and beating and Edward is there, crawling towards her.

She locks eyes with him, and he looks as flushed as she. He takes her foot into his hands and unties the ribbons around her ankle. He does the same to the other foot, rubbing her bloody toes – she was dancing that hard. He crawls up her body, kissing her right thigh, right where – oh my god, right where –

And then she can't make any connections to dreams because the most integral connection is happening in her present. He bends down when his body is over hers completely and kisses her without any words.

He kisses her so, so sweetly. His kisses are his words, the words he doesn't have and the words he's unable to say. She meets him in the middle. She doesn't let him give more than he gets. She's never kissed like this, with the tongue and the teeth and the panting and the embarrassing noises and bodily reactions and the grinding and her hands crawling up his thin t-shirt.

Her fingers scoot along his spine, each knob a speed bump in her path. He stops kissing her at once and draws back, shoving his baseball cap firmly onto his head.

"Don't – don't touch me like – "

"Sorry." She doesn't know what she's apologizing for.

"I don't – you can't… Bella, it's not fair. It's not."

"It's okay." She tugs on his arms, and he comes back to her. They're kissing again, and his whole body is pressed against her, and he's hard, and she's desirous and dizzy and wants everything. She doesn't know if it's the dancing or if it's him, but she's full of so much… so much… she doesn't know. There's no name for this, the soft lips and the wetness of his tongue and the bite of his teeth and the hard, hard, hard part of him, pressing up against her.

He backs away again, but it's slow, and it's okay. They need to breathe.

"Shit," he breathes, scrubbing his face with his hands. "I'm sorry."

She's still lying flat on her back, turned on and completely out of her mind. "For what?"

"I don't know."

She sits up slowly, and then it's her turn to crawl over to him. She brushes her shoes out of the way, and then puts her hand to his face.

"Why are you sorry?" she repeats.

He looks at her. "I'm not." He goes to kiss her, but the brim of his cap knocks into her forehead.

"Ow," she cries, rubbing the spot. "Why do you wear that stupid thing, anyway?"

It's a rhetorical question. She's not expecting him to answer, and she's definitely not expecting him to rip the hat off his head. But he does.

He's not bald. But it's weird. He has a short growth of hair, like a military buzz cut. But some parts are longer than others. And it's… it's…

"Fucking red," he grumbles, running his hand over it. "My hair is growing back in red."

"It's not red," she insists. "It's like…"

"Red," he says flatly. "I'm a ginger."

"No. Like… copper. Like a penny." She touches it. It's fuzzy in some places, and spiky in others. "I like it."

"It used to be brown. Dark brown, I guess." He shoves his cap back on his head. "It's like a guessing game, when you lose your hair. How it will grow back. Really entertaining."

"Where did it go?"

"It fell out."

"Why?"

He laughs, but he's not amused. "Can't you guess?"

A throat clears. They both spring apart, and Esme is smiling at them. "I'm leaving. I don't want to lock you two in here – let's go."

Bella stands up quickly and offers Edward a hand. He takes it, groaning as he lifts his body.

xXxXx

He doesn't call the rest of the weekend. She wonders if she blew it. She wonders if he thinks he blew it. She wonders if she should call him. She almost does several times, but stops when she remembers the silent ride home. It wasn't comfortable silence, like before. Instead, it stretched between them like a chasm, empty and bottomless.

She's confused by it all, and she doesn't get any answers. She's surprised when she sees him Tuesday evening when she walks into their mutual class.

He's sitting in his seat, head in his hand. His cap is pushed up, the brim visible from the back. She sets down her things quietly and sits down even more quietly. She takes out her phone and gets onto Facebook and scrolls through status updates so she doesn't have to look at him.

The class starts without a word between them, and an hour stretches into two before the professor lets them on break.

They have their cigarettes, but he still doesn't say a word. She's getting pretty pissed, but at this point… if he's going to be like this, then fuck him. She has nothing to say to him, anyway.

The last hour of class drags, and when the professor dismisses them, she already has her things. She's out the door quickly, cursing quietly to herself. Damn him… no, fuck him. Fuck him for all the passion, all the excitement he brought to her life and fuck him for thinking he can just take it all away.

"Bella." It's him, somewhat close behind her. She's practically jogging through the parking lot to get to her car and get away so she can cry without being humiliated.

She doesn't respond. She digs her keys out of her purse and unlocks her car with a beep.

"Bella, please." His voice is unsteady, broken, exhausted. He's panting like keeping up with her is a huge effort. She feels awful, and that makes her even more enraged.

"What?" She whirls on him. "What? Finally have something to say after four days of silence?"

He looks so small, standing there. He's not small, per se. He's tall and lanky, but something about his expression makes him seem like he's been hammered into the ground.

"Chemo."

She stares at him. "I beg your – "

"You asked… about my hair. Chemo. It… made it fall out."

"Chemo," she repeats.

"Yeah. I… that's why I missed the few first weeks. And… that night you called me, a couple weeks ago? When I slept through class… I took my last batch of it that day. That morning. It… I don't know how much you know about it – "

"Hardly anything."

"Well, it's… exhausting. And… yeah."

"Edward," she whispers. "Are you sick?"

"I was," he answers. "Very sick."

"Was? You aren't anymore?"

"Not if this shitty excuse for a cure does what it's supposed to do."

"Oh." She shuffles her feet. "So, that's why you're so thin?"

"Don't remind me."

"Sorry."

"Yes. That's why. It… chemo and food are natural enemies."

"I'm… sorry." It sounds dead when she says it.

"Don't say it like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you don't care."

"Of course I – you're the one who – ooooh!" She groans and it ends on a squeak. "I let you in. But I can't do it alone."

"It's not fair. I… I don't have any guarantees."

"I don't either. I could go walk in front of a – "

"Just stop with that horrible cliché. I have less of a guarantee than you do. That's all I mean. So… it's up to you. I want… I want to let you in. But I'm not… I'm not going to take you into this world of mine without your total consent. I have baggage… a lot of it."

"I don't care."

"You don't care about my baggage?"

"What are you – stop! Just stop making it sound like I'm being an asshole. I'm really sorry that happened to you, Edward. That's awful, and I want to know more about it and you. But don't… don't you dare use it as an excuse to treat me like shit."

He looks like she just punched him. "That's not what I was trying to do."

She sighs. "I'm sorry. You just… I'm being an asshole about this."

"God, no." He moves to her. He takes her hand. "You're the first person… the only person who's kind of blinked at me about my… whatever and said, 'and?' I mean, I know that seems like an asshole thing to someone who doesn't have… my problem, but… to someone with… my problem, it's refreshing. Awesome. Amazing. I don't want that excuse. I don't want to be given everything because I'm sick. I want someone to push me and… and to make me work for it, and…"

She kisses him, and it's a different kiss from the other day. It's soft and it's shut up. "Let me in," she whispers against his lips.

He blows out a big breath and kisses her lightly. "Okay."

xXxXx

This chapter title comes from "Free" by Zac Brown Band. Download the album version – there's a sample of 'Into the Mystic' by Van Morrison in the middle of it. It's beautiful.