Disclaimer: Everything in the Twilight universe belongs to Stephenie Meyer.

AN: Thank you edward-bella-harry-ginny for your beta skills! Your advice is invaluable, as always!

I continue to be awed by the response to this. Thank you, reviewers!

Chapter 3. Distraught

I packed my uniform pieces into my garment bag and hung it on the back of my bedroom door, and then went into the bathroom to pack my toiletries. I left most of my toiletries packed now – my LLBean toiletry bag made it feasible to just leave it put together all the time. I grabbed a few things out of my shower, and tossed it into the bag, zipping everything shut. I took the toiletries and walked out to the bedroom to grab my garment bag. I hauled it all out to the living room and started to toss everything on the armchair when I noticed red blotches on the garment bag. I turned my hand over and saw I had managed to slice open my palm – it must have been the razor from the shower because I never even felt the cut. As I walked back to the bathroom to grab the bactine and a bandaid, I realized I had left blood drops every few feet through the entire apartment. Perfect. Thank goodness I didn't have carpet! The cheap laminate flooring would be fine for the weekend since I needed to get on the road immediately.

I did a quick sweep of the apartment, checking that the lights were off. I poured a little bleach in the toilet and then shut the bedroom and bathroom windows. Slinging my bags over my shoulder, I took the stairs down three flights to the underground garage where my red mini coop with the white racing stripe awaited me.

My dad had bought me an old red pickup when I was in high school, and it had been my pal all through my college years as well. It had been a sickly, unreliable pal, but a pal nonetheless. It had been a hard moment when it had finally died, but as an adult who required highly reliable transportation, I was glad to have the mini. The color was a tribute to my old pal, now living in Chevy heaven. In all other respects – size, speed, gas mileage, environmental impact, and efficiency – they were polar opposites. I put my cell phone on the passenger seat, plugged in my iPod nano (blue), and settled in for the three hour drive.

As I drove down the freeway, I wondered about the choices I faced. My original take had been that I was faced with a Faustian bargain – everything I desired to accomplish in life in exchange for my dishonesty. Nothing had changed my mind about Mystery Man; I had a hard time believing anyone would offer me so much just for doing the right thing. I had to believe that if it was the right thing, I would do it regardless of the bribe. And then the papers I had signed just to attend the interview suggested even mentioning the interview to someone else would lead to a court martial. Clearly whatever job I was being considered for was of the highest sensitivity.

What could this job be? My first guess about the job was that someone involved in highly classified activities needed counseling. It was almost impossible to counsel someone with PTSD issues without discussing the events themselves. If the events were highly classified operations, that would leave the military few choices regarding counseling. My second guess was that there was some intelligence about a military target, and they needed someone to analyze the target's mental state. That seemed less likely. I was pretty sure there were people who did that as a job, although I would have pegged the CIA for that kind of analysis.

I let out a loud noise, somewhere between a growl and sigh. I was not going to think about this ridiculous situation for one more minute of this drive! There were patients to see tomorrow, and I needed my head in the game. I needed a good dose of reality. I scrolled my iPod to the loudest, most mind-numbing playlist I had, specifically constructed for moments like these. I was developing a secret enjoyment of punk and ska bands. I had been a fan of pop until recently. For some reason, the harsher lyrics and music was really connecting with how I was feeling about life.

It was nearly nine when I pulled into my assigned parking place at the Hampton apartment. Jessica's car was in her spot, so I guessed the boyfriend of the month was now history. I sighed. This could be good – Jessica could be really fun when she was paying attention to something other than the next ex-boyfriend – but if the pain was too new, it could be a night of sour cream and onion potato chips followed by the gallon tub of generic vanilla ice cream.

Opening the front door, I saw a trail of crumpled Kleenex forming a path from the couch to the bathroom. I winced. It was going to be ugly. Jessica walked out of the kitchen wearing sweats and holding a giant bag of potato chips, and I was immediately relieved that I'd skipped dinner. I hurriedly hung up my garment bag.

"What happened, Jess?" I gave her the once-over. Her eyes were red, her nose was red, her hair was up in a giant plastic clip, and her lower lip was trembling.

"It was, you know, Ryan…" the end of Ryan's name disappeared into a wail ending in a sob followed by several unintelligible syllables.

"Come here," I told her, sitting down and patting the cushion on the couch next to me. Jess collapsed onto the seat and fell into my shoulder.. I rocked her for a while. I'd never had a bad break-up since I'd never really been in a committed relationship, at least not on my part. I had seen my mom like this more than once through my early teens, though, and I knew it was painful. "Maybe a movie?"

"You know I'll just cry more," hiccupped Jessica.

"I know. But it's a tradition now," I reassured her.

"Okay." Jessica sniffled.

"Sleepless in Seattle?" It was the only one Jessica ever watched after a breakup, apparently a tradition going all the way back to high school. When she nodded, I got up, arranged blankets, chips (in a bowl), drinks, and Kleenex, and then popped the dvd in.

When the movie ended, Jessica sighed.

"A little better?"

"Yeah."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No," said Jessica firmly. I waited. I knew there was no way she was going to stop there. "He was just so nice at first. I thought we had such a great time last night, and then…" The crying started again, and I held her for a few more minutes, and then I broke out the hard stuff – Rocky Road ice cream.

It was a little after one in the morning when I finally settled into bed, feeling slightly nauseous from the horrible junk food we'd eaten all evening. I'd done the breakup routine with Jessica at least five times since we started rooming, and I wondered if I was going to have to have an intervention with her. We'd met two years earlier at the VA where she worked as an administrator in the business office. Jessica really was a great roommate; she didn't demand much, and she was a borderline neat freak (dirty Kleenex trails notwithstanding). I really wasn't sure how someone so put together at work and with most of life could be such a flake with men. Maybe she'd be a better person when she got married and stopped wasting so much energy trying to get together with someone. Unfortunately, desperation was rarely attractive.

"I should hook her up with Mike," I thought with a giggle, but I immediately felt bad for picking on the distraught nympho. I giggled again. Still picking. I snuggled into the sheets and tried to get some sleep before my full day.

The next day, I followed my usual Friday routine. I saw all my usual Friday patients. Jack was in mandatory counseling after his third incident at work; he was having serious anger management issues after the sudden death of his son. Sam had tried to save one of his closest friends after getting caught in crossfire in Iraq, but had to watch him bleed out as they were pinned down by the gunfire. Daniel had been captured by insurgents but rescued soon after by his team. As I organized my office at the end of the day, I had the definite sense that most of my patients were making progress. Only Jack was stubbornly refusing to consider cooperating. I wasn't sure how to approach him yet.

A knock on the door shook me out of my thoughts.

"Knock, knock!" sang out a familiar voice.

"Who's there?" I asked in a monotone, not looking up from my files.

"Orange!"

"Orange who?"

"Orange you glad it's not another Swan joke?" Mike sauntered through the door, a goofy grin on his face. He was in scrubs; he wasn't in Hampton as regularly as I was since his orthopedic work had him moving among three different facilities, but he was around about every other week.

"Fancy seeing you here, Major Swan."

"Hi, Mike. What's up?" I cringed internally. I liked Mike. He was a great colleague. He just wasn't for me.

"I thought I could interest you in lunch tomorrow in Newport News? And maybe a walk in one of the parks on the waterfront?"

I wondered what it meant that Mike had actually come up with something fun, and I suspected Angela of helping him out. I was going to find a way to get her back.

"That actually sounds fun, Mike, but I have a problem. My roommate is really having a bad weekend, and I don't want to leave her." This was completely the truth.

"Oh, sure. What's her name?"

"Jessica."

"Right, I remember now. She does the insurance stuff. Would you like to bring her along? It's just a chance to get out and have some fun. No pressure or anything."

Maybe my idea last night wasn't so crazy. Mike and Jessica were perfect for each other.

"I'll have to call you later." I cringed internally again. Calling him after hours was, I suspected, one step away from an engagement in Mike's eyes. "It might take me a while to convince Jessica to go out."

"Okay. I'll be waiting!" Mike gave me his boyish grin and left my office.

When I broached the topic at dinner that night, I was surprised that Jessica immediately agreed to go out for lunch and to the park. With a little further thought, I was no longer surprised. I had let her know that there was going to be a guy at lunch, one that I was not dating, and that he was a doctor.

In the morning, I discovered that getting ready for a casual lunch suddenly seemed of the utmost importance. I needed Jessica to shine like a star going supernova, and I wanted to be the dwarf planet that got swallowed in the fiery blaze. Mike wasn't going to know what hit him.

"Why do you want me to wear this again?" asked Jessica, looking at herself in the bathroom mirror. She was wearing skinny jeans and a low cut dark blue top with a flare at the waist. There was a tie which went just under her bust, making her the picture of femininity. We had fought her hair with the flat iron and silicone-infused hair products, and it looked sleek, showing off its natural blonde highlights. She had that dirty blonde look which could, in the right circumstances, really enhance her elfin face and blue eyes.

"We're teaching Ryan a lesson," I told her. I handed her the mascara. It wasn't a lie, exactly. I was doing this as much for Jess and her shattered psyche as I was for myself. From experience I knew she would put herself back together in a week or two, but I was confident now was as good as next week.

"He's not going to be there," Jess responded, rolling her eyes. Her lip quivered, a little, but she recovered.

"Ah, but he could be there. You'll have to imagine that part. At every moment while you dazzle the surrounding men, just tell yourself about all the wonderfulness of you that Ryan is missing out on." She really did look good.

"What are you wearing, Bella?"

"Um, I was thinking I'd just go like this." I had on a grey hoodie, faded jeans, and an old pair of trainers. I'd actually taken them out on a dirt bike trail with Phil and Renee (long story – fad over, thank heavens) and had never gotten them cleaned up. My hair was up in a pony tail, and I had no makeup on. Just call me Pluto.

"You're dressing me up like this, and you're wearing that?" Jessica eyed me dubiously.

"Sure. All part of the plan." I gave her my happiest smile.

Mike had us meet him at a Dairy Queen to get takeout. It was a little weird but we went with it.

"Don't get any desserts," he told us seriously. "We can do that on the way back."

We drove a few blocks to Riverview Farm Park, and picnicked on a sheltered bench. The day was sunny and warm, but the humidity was low, so it was pleasant. Mike was his usual goofy self, and I was relieved that he was including Jessica in his jokes. All his jokes to her were about insurance salesmen, and she was enjoying every one. Her laughter was nice to hear after all the sobbing from Thursday night. Mike's satisfaction at getting her to laugh was enough to get me to laugh as well.

When lunch was finished, Mike had us stroll over to the dog park.

"I can't have a dog since I'm on the road so much," he told us. "This is how I get my dog fix. I hate pet stores."

"You could volunteer at a shelter," suggested Jessica.

"That sounds like a great idea! I wonder why I never thought of that." He looked in amusement at a Chihuahua barking shrilly at a Dalmatian.

"It's the little ones who are always the most ferocious," I commented. My experience with dogs was limited to being nipped at by the evil dachshunds that lived next door to Renee when I was small.

"Maybe we could volunteer together," Mike suggested to Jessica. "Do you know anything about dogs?"

I found myself vitally interested in an informational board about thirty yards from where we stood together, and I wandered away from them surreptitiously. About twenty minutes later, Mike and Jessica rejoined me, laughing at some comment Mike had made about an Afghan and a Poodle.

We did go back to the Dairy Queen, and I indulged in a chocolate dip cone while Mike and Jessica shared a banana split. I was all warm inside, seeing the budding romance I had instigated. I just hoped Mike was a better man than Ryan. Or David. Or Jackson. Or Avery. Or…oops, couldn't remember his name, the one with the little goatee.

Sunday was a blessed day of rest. I was only on-call at the VA every other weekend, and this was my weekend off. I read the newspaper in my pajamas while sipping coffee and eating grapefruit sections and a bagel. Jessica woke up very late, looking drained.

"Do you think he likes me, Bella?"

"He looked like he liked you," I answered absently. Miss Manners had my nearly complete attention. Who were these people who thought it was okay not to invite half their close relatives to the wedding? Miss Manners was giving them a very genteel tongue-lashing.

"I think he was just being polite," she whined. My Kleenex radar went off immediately, and I glanced around desperately for a box.

"I don't know if I can handle another letdown so soon," she sniffled as she pulled a coffee mug out of the cupboard.

"No, Jess, I think he really meant it. Mike is a nice guy; I've known him for several years. He's solid." I ran to the living room and grabbed the tissue box.

"If he's so great, why don't you like him?"

"We work together, Jess. It's not like that." His puppy dog loyalty and weird humor annoyed me, but I didn't have to mention that part.

The rest of the afternoon went the same way; Jess poured out her insecurities and I tried to alleviate them while I finished the paper. Thankfully, Mike called her around 4 p.m. to talk about the animal shelter, and Jess was finally happy.

The drive back to DC Monday evening was a welcome interlude of solitude. I felt a little guilty that I was weary of Jess's rapid mood swings, but I needed to get away. Work had been its usual mix of small crises, minor annoyances, and occasional fulfilling moments. My iPod was playing my moody playlist, a mixture of Zeppelin, Pink Floyd, Buckley, and random songs that were simultaneously soothing and melancholy. Apparently, I needed to think. Cruise control was set for 5 miles above the speed limit. Charlie would have disapproved, but I was barely keeping up with the flow of traffic.

The weekend had been a welcome return to normalcy. Mike, Jess, my patients, the Hampton area, and the VA were all parts of my life which predated the oddities which had arisen since I had started at the Pentagon. I hadn't thought much this weekend about the choices facing me, at least not consciously. I realized I had made a choice, though. I liked my life. I was doing important work, both in the clinical setting and at the Pentagon. I did not need the complications of a high security side project. Mystery Man could crawl back into whatever hole he had come from.

My conscious acceptance of my decision released a band of tension in my chest that I hadn't even realized was there. I felt confident this was the right decision for me, for this time in my life. I had only had my new position for a bit over a week. This was no time to get mixed up with the insanity which lay between Colonel McCarty and Mystery Man. A little voice told me that I would always wonder what this had all been about, but I reminded myself that I was already doing exactly what I wanted to do.

I grabbed the iPod and switched it to my nineties dance club mix. It was upbeat and it was mindless, and it was perfect for my mood. I danced in my seat, banging on the steering wheel, and rejoicing that I finally had a plan of action. I decided to celebrate with soup and salad at a Panera about an hour from home. It was after 7 pm, and I was decidedly hungry. I had known when I took the Pentagon job that the commute was going to be tiring. I was still excited about the work, so it wasn't a drain yet. I was going to have to find ways to make it worth my while to do so much driving. I wore my iPod into the restaurant, lugging my laptop as well. I might as well check my personal email – my mother Renee usually sent me a note on Mondays.

I settled into a booth and popped my laptop open. I took a bite of Greek salad and discovered that Renee had indeed written me. I sighed. She was absolutely gaga over her new yoga instructor, and I was thankful that her husband grounded her for the most part. She raved about a new restaurant that served only raw foods, and I felt a little bad for Phil. He was a meat and potatoes kind of guy, but thankfully an adventurous one. It looked like he was going to be a bulghur wheat and potatoes kind of guy for the next few weeks. I knew they rarely ate at home; taking Renee out to dinner was one of Phil's survival mechanisms. She didn't cook; therefore they still had a house which had not been burnt to the foundation. Unfortunately, it looked like her new fad meant he was eating food as inedible as the stuff she used to make on her own.

I ate the rest of my French onion soup while I perused a week's worth of Reneeisms. I typed up a few responses for her, and then informed her about my weekend with Jess. I rarely if ever mentioned my work to her. We had had many an epic argument over my being in the military. She was a hippie displaced in time. If I had brought up the position at the Pentagon, she wouldn't have been able to leave it alone. Phil was much more sympathetic, but he essentially let Renee do whatever she liked. He cleaned up her messes, but he would never censure her behavior. Christmas was only three months away, and I would answer any question she brought up then. I sighed again, and noticed the people at the table next to me were giving me concerned looks. I smiled at them in apology and packed up my stuff.

When I finally got back to my apartment building, it was just after nine. I could tell I had about another half hour of activity left in me, so I was going to have to move quickly to get myself unpacked and into bed before I collapsed. I parked in my usual slot in the parking garage, and hauled my stuff back up the stairs. I stopped in the lobby to get my mail. I fumbled with all my bags as I pulled out my mailbox key. Since I hadn't picked up the mail Friday afternoon, I had three days built up. It made quite a wad of credit card companies' attempts to end all plant life on the planet. Finally, I was in my apartment. I dumped all the mail on the dining table and my garment bag on the chair.

I flipped through the junk mail, hopeful that some piece of mail had arrived from a human being I had a relationship with. Halfway through the stack, I found an envelope marked "confidential." It had no return address, no address but my name, and no stamp. I was getting pretty sick of people violating my privacy. How had these people gotten into my locked mailbox? I had a feeling the envelope was either a rejection from Colonel McCarty or an invitation to join his merry band.

It was another official letter from the Director of Special Forces. I was being extended an offer, and if I accepted it, I should meet the car at 8 a.m. Wednesday morning outside my apartment. Details would be given after I agreed to the job. My mind had already been made up. There was no way I was playing their game again. When eight rolled around Wednesday morning, I would be in my office at the Pentagon. I crumpled up the letter in disgust and hurled it at the back wall of the living room. I already had everything I had wanted in my life. I tried to remember back to last week when I had been ecstatic to be where I was. I knew it wasn't Colonel McCarty's fault that he had disrupted what should be the best year of my life, but I was irrationally angry with him and his cloak and dagger operation.

I flipped through the rest of the junk mail and ended up throwing all of it away. I hadn't even gotten a real bill. It was all crap. I shook my head and yawned. Definitely time to get ready for bed. I dragged my garment bag down the hall to the bedroom. I opened the bedroom door, surprised that it was closed. I didn't usually close it unless I was in the bedroom, and I didn't remember closing it on my way out of the apartment. I flipped on the light and my jaw dropped along with the garment bag. I tried to process what I was seeing, and felt overwhelmed by a combination of outrage, horror, and fear. An adrenaline surge wiped out the lethargy I had felt only moments before, and I felt like I was going to be sick.

There was nothing left of my bed but scraps of wood, shredded fabric, and a blizzard of feathers.

AN2: Still with me?

There are two awards sites open for voting at the moment: The Sparkle Awards (thesparkleawards dot webs dot com) and The Moonlight Awards (themoonlightawards dot yolasite dot com). The Cold War (by me) has been nominated on both sites, and Masen and Swan: In the Windy City (by me and ebhg) is up for best collaboration at The Moonlight Awards. Stories from Justine Lark, edward-bella-harry-ginny, and EliseShaw are also nominated. If you haven't read those yet, they're fantastic. Voting is on October 14– 24 for Moonlight and on October 16 – November 8 for Sparkle. I encourage participation because it encourages the authors!