AN: BELLA/PETER bonding! YAY! Ahem, but yeah, I'm getting pretty tired of no action, so all that will change soon. And I also introduced another favorite character of mine—I love him to pieces! But *gasp* under what circumstances?

Eh, anyway, I'm still going strong on this ultimate writing streak. I dread school approaching. DREAD IT!

But yeah, I've gotta go. Grr much? Yeah, I'm blabbering because I'm tired.

So, this chapter is now up. Um…I hope Bella and Peter are at least slightly in character. I try, but fail. Darn me.

I will now allow you to continue reading because I have just about nothing to say. Eh. First time for everything, I guess.

Immolation Chapter 7: Breakdowns

"Comfort can come from the most unexpected places…"

The next day, I woke up to the sound of pattering rain. I sighed sadly at my ceiling, knowing that Claire probably had left with her father already. I looked over at my clock—startled to see that it was noon—and was reassured that that was the case. Noah most likely wanted to spend as much time with his daughter as he could, and the way he had pleaded with her the one time we met gave me the feeling that he would have shown up at 12:01 simply because it was the earliest possible time the next day he could get her. I snickered at the image of Claire, clad in her pajamas, being woken up by her eager father, ready to gather her and leave.

And yet it didn't last long, knowing that she was gone for a few days. Of course I would hang out with Peter…that is, if he wanted me to, which I couldn't be sure of. I sighed and ran my hand through my hair—Peter was iffy with me. I, of course, didn't mind him, but sometimes he'd joke and laugh with me, and others it seemed like he was irritated by my presence or something. I was beginning to get whiplash.

I winced.

I sat up, looking around my room. I wasn't sure how late Peter usually slept, but I assumed that by the time I made my way out there he'd be awake. So, I began to get dressed and brush my teeth, grabbing a quick glass of juice on my way out. Then a note caught my attention—though it was just that Charlie was staying over at Billy's for a prolonged fishing trip, and that there was money if I wanted to order out in the cabinet. I crumpled it and threw it away, grabbing some of my own money and making my way out to the truck.

I dropped off the bills Charlie had left out at the post office, before driving out to Port Angeles. I made my way to the bookstore and pulled in, finding that virtually no one was here. I ambled through the door and nodded to the man at the desk, before browsing the far back, very small 'Science: Biology' section of the store. I was worried that they wouldn't have it and I'd have to go through the embarrassment of telling Peter his book had pulled a Houdini when I saw the dark blue cover flash behind something else. I felt a tinge of annoyance at those pesky people—who I experienced too much for my liking over at Newton's—that seemed too lazy to ever put anything they grabbed in the right place, making that much more work for the personnel.

I sighed and shook my thoughts away, bringing the book to the counter and paying for it. I declined a bag and—blushing furiously—a date, before running out to my truck and setting off down the now familiar road to Peter and Claire's house. It looked the same as I pulled up, hiding the book under my jacket, and walked as fast as my wobbly feet would allow to the door. And yet, as I rang the bell, I felt as if Claire's absence was a visible thing.

Peter answered the door and looked surprised to see me. "Bella?" He allowed me entry so I could get out of the steadily worsening rain. I pulled open my jacket to reveal the book, sticking it into his hands.

"I finished it, finally. Thanks for letting me borrow it." I held my breath, half expecting him to notice that it wasn't his, somehow, and get angry, yet he simply thanked me and shut the door.

I began to take off my jacket and hang it up, but when I looked up at him he seemed confused. He didn't speak, though, simply looked at me. His eyes narrowed gradually, and his expression was almost that of anger. I shrunk away—suddenly, my whole idea of getting to know him better sounded like a flop. He didn't look very happy to see me.

We stood there for what felt like hours, when finally he gasped and seemed to come back to the present—before clutching his head. That was when I noticed just a small trickle of blood running down over his lips and chin. "Oh my God," I whispered, not thinking as I wiped it away with my thumb. "Your nose is bleeding!"

He pulled my hand away and looked down at my now blood covered thumb, and I resisted the urge to gag, taking a deep breath out of my mouth. "So it is," he agreed quietly, before promising he would get me a paper towel and disappearing into the kitchen. When he came back I gladly took it from him and wiped away the blood, turning to throw it away in a nearby waste basket.

"What happened just now?" I asked after a moment of silence.

He responded with a question. "Why can't I read your mind?" I started at the unexpected turn of conversation.

And I tried to ignore the searing pain in my chest, though still grimaced. I swallowed it back and closed my eyes. "What?"

I opened them to find him staring at me, as if he was trying to read me like a book. "Your mind…it's like there's a wall, blocking me from getting in."

I shook my head, remembering that Peter had said before he had the power of telepathy. "I…I don't know. You can't read it? At all?"

He shook his head, guiding me into the living room as he spoke. "No, it's like there's a shell made of steel, and all I could hear was static…I tried to force my way in, but didn't get a single stray thought." He plopped down on the couch, and I took the spot across from him. "And then it began to actually hurt to try to get in—like I was whacking myself in the head with a hammer."

I bit my lip, processing all this. So my mind was unreadable to everyone, I suppose. "I'm sorry," I said eventually.

He looked surprised. "Sorry for what?"

"Well, I didn't mean to make you hurt yourself," I said it like it was obvious.

He laughed, "Bella, you didn't make me do anything. I was the stupid one who kept trying to get in even though it was apparent that I can't…which makes me think…" he trailed off, staring at me with curious, if not slightly awed eyes.

I apparently wasn't catching on. "Makes you think what?"

"Well," he said slowly. "That you're not quite as normal as you think you are."

I stared at him dumbly, my mind simply refusing to understand what he said. It was like I knew what he was talking about, and yet I didn't. "Excuse me?"

He reached over next to him, where he had set Activating Evolution, and thumbed through it, finally handing me the same list he had showed me a week ago. He pointed to a group labeled Negators. "I think you would fall under this category. I don't remember ever meeting anyone I couldn't read before…and it's the only thing that makes sense."

I read through the list quickly but didn't pick up anything. I was absolutely shocked by what Peter was trying to say—that I could have a power! Like him or Claire! That was preposterous! I was just Bella Swan, the normal everyday human who got into more trouble than she was supposed to…not someone worth anything, as Peter was trying to say.

I winced again, remembering the James fiasco. 'You are worth it.'

Apparently not, I thought bitterly.

I shook from my thoughts to find Peter looking at me. His expression was, again, a mix of curiosity and awe, his toffee eyes intense as he watched me. I couldn't help but feel unnerved at the way he looked at me—not quite like I was an interesting science experiment, but close. Like I was interesting piece of art that he was trying to judge or something.

I snorted abruptly. Me, even thinking about comparing myself to art was hilarious.

He jumped. "What's so funny?"

I waved my hand. "Nothing. It wasn't even that funny anyway." He seemed to find the matter not worth pushing, but instead directed me back to the conversation at hand.

"So what do you think? It makes sense, right? You have to be special Bella—there's no other explanation." I nodded, finding that I didn't want to discuss the matter further. It seemed like this past week had been about me trying to become a normal teenage girl again, and the prospect of that all falling to pieces simply didn't appeal to me. While I did feel a vague excitement—that I could have an ability that might allow even scrawny me to save the world, it also held more responsibility than I could handle right now.

I sighed and ran a hand through my hair. Then, without looking at him, I asked, "So, got any plans for today?"

III

Matt Parkman walked quickly in his irritation. His coffee swirled up dangerously, nearly tipping out of his cup as he recalled the meetings for whatever the hell it was they were negotiating. He wasn't sure what Janice was trying to get out of him, but he wasn't happy about it. Of course he'd support his unborn child—the nerve she had to even dare think about questioning that was astounding. And when the words came from her mouth, he wanted to rant and rave and pull his hair out.

I'd like to think I'm not a very angry person, he grumbled mentally. But when people make statements like that outta the blue for no reason other than spite…it makes my skin crawl. How dare she think I'd not make sure my own kid lived with all his necessities and more?

He shook it from his head, resolving not to let that ruin his day. He had made it clear that everything would be done on his part, and that was simply all he could do. Now, he was thinking about seeing Molly again. But first he figured he'd grab them a bite to eat, and he had heard of that new little deli opening up down by that art gallery.

He, honestly, preferred to walk. It was easier than running the risk of road rage in this Godforsaken city. He chuckled as the image of him plowing over multiple cars with his cruiser came to mind, but he quashed it and threw his now empty Styrofoam cup into a nearby garbage can. He looked up and stilled. He felt his face pale.

His eyes ran over the canvas that was obviously in the style of Isaac Mendez. He had heard of the man's ability to paint the future, and he had also heard of his amazing accuracy. He hoped that for once, he got it all wrong. Frantically, he looked up and down the streets, hoping he'd be lucky enough to find someone that would point out that it wasn't really Mendez's work or something. But of course it was nearly deserted, as no one pretty much ever came this way.

He turned back, appalled. This can't be the future…it can't! Who could possibly cause this…and who is that? He simply couldn't believe this—was this really what their fate was reduced to? What could possibly lead to something like that?

A woman, having noticed his staring from the inside, smiled and came out, patting his arm. "I see you're interested in this piece. It's actually for sale, if you'd be interested…" He tuned her out. As if he'd want to buy this monstrosity. But he listened in as she began to tell him about it. "…one of Mendez's later works. As you can see, up in the top right corner, its title is 'Revenge of the Swan'. I think it's brilliant, if I do say so myself, although quite graphic. So, are you interested?"

He stuttered, his eyes never leaving the painting. "No, no. I'm just…I'm looking. Admiring. I'm a fan of his." She nodded, seeming disheartened by the fact he wasn't a buyer, and left without a word.

He stared, analyzing every inch and stroke he could. That was when he spotted the sign: 'Forks, Washington Welcomes you!' He knew his destination. And he knew who he had to see there.

III

I sighed and leaned back in the chair. "Why don't you seem excited by your powers?" Peter asked. I looked over at him and shrugged.

"I'm not really sure, honestly."

He chuckled and looked at the wall. "I'm just saying, most teenage girls would freak out and go call everyone or something."

I laughed, genuinely, throwing my head back at the very prospect of me being a gossip mongrel like Jessica Stanley. He looked over at me, amusement in his eyes. "What?"

I shook my head, calming myself enough to speak. "I guess you can say I'm really not most teenage girls. I barely count as a teenager."

"How old are you?" he asked.

"Eighteen, technically. But it's been a joke in my family that I was born middle-aged—an accurate one, to tell the truth." I smiled at the memories of my mom constantly rolling her eyes or crossing her arms, acting like the teenager as I acted like the parent. I would even have to tell her when to get in the shower or go to bed!

"Wow. That is accurate." I looked over at him curiously, and he began to elaborate. "Well, when you're here you help Claire with her homework or read or something—even when she does convince you to play board games or cards you go for Monopoly or Clue or something adults I know still play. It's weird." I started as he said this.

"How'd you know all that?" I questioned, awed by his ability to seem to actually know me even though we barely spoke.

He shrugged nonchalantly. "I've been called observant once or twice." I felt a pang in my heart at buried memories, but it wasn't that strong as I focused more on the conversation. Thinking about his words, I frowned.

"Tell me about you." He didn't seem to understand what I was saying.

"Tell you what about me?"

"I don't know," I said, blushing slightly and looking away. "Anything, I guess. It's just I don't really know you—only bits and pieces that sound more like they belong in an L. Ron Hubbard novel or something."

He laughed, and I noticed that slight pink tinge to his face again. "See what I mean? You even know L. Ron Hubbard. He was writing in what, the thirties?"

I shook my head, "Don't go changing the subject on me."

He sighed, putting his hands up in defeat. "Alright, I guess I'll start from the beginning." And then, my jaw dropped. And stayed open the whole time. He described his dreams in which he could fly and told me about how he confided in his brother, who didn't believe him. He said that frustrated him greatly because he just had a feeling that he was onto something bigger. His mannerisms grew more animated as he got into his story—and soon I found myself perched on the edge of my seat, leaning toward him as he continued to speak, leaning forward toward me in turn.

When he stopped with the explosion, I was snapped awake, because I had been almost literally hanging on each thing he said. Not only was everything so amazing and interesting, but he was a wonderful story-teller, and his adjective usage, I had to say, was beautiful. But that was beside the point—I wanted to hear more. It didn't even register that his story ended at the explosion.

"What then?" I asked impatiently.

He laughed, and I felt his breath fan on my face. We weren't that close, were we? Just in case, I sat up straighter and sat back in my chair more—it had been to the point where I technically wasn't even sitting in it anymore. "There's nothing more to tell. You were there for the rest."

"But…" I began, unsure of what to say. "I mean, I read a lot. And…that was the perfect sci-fi romance-drama. And there were so many loose ends…there has to be more. Don't hold out on me," I warned.

He chuckled, but it was faint. "As flattering as that is, I really don't want there to be any more. As you know, things in books only get worse—or better, depending on how you look at it. And I really don't want to find out what's worse than exploding." I giggled, seeing his point.

"That's true, I suppose. It's just…" I paused. What was I trying to say?

"Your life…has been so amazing. I mean, all of that in how short a time? I've had eighteen years of nearly nothing…wow…you're probably one of the luckiest people I've met," I said slowly.

He quirked an eyebrow, giving me a sidelong glance. "Exploding is lucky nowadays? I didn't think I was getting that old."

I punched his arm—only hurting myself, though I didn't let it show. "You're not old, Peter. But not the exploding part—the powers part."

"Explain."

"Well…think about it." I gestured my arms in a wide arc motion as I spoke, "You have these amazing superpowers, and you can do so much to help the world. I mean—you already have. Think about what more you can do—you're a real life superman! And you only get more powerful as you meet more special people!" He nodded.

"I guess I didn't look that far ahead. You're right…and, honestly, I did always want to do something extraordinary. Is that selfish?" He turned to me.

I shrugged. "Maybe a little, but everyone feels that way. Being able to do something special and extraordinary would be awesome, so you're not wrong in hoping for it." He smiled.

"Thanks. And speaking of special, you never told me why you're not excited about your powers. And you just sat here and had a fit about how awesome mine are." He raised a questioning eyebrow once again.

I sighed and looked away from him. "I…I guess because, while spending time with Claire, I've been trying to get used to being normal—and to stop wanting something extraordinary. I was out of it, like I've said…" I had to clear my throat to keep it from breaking. "And it wasn't like I was alive. I was slipping into this zombie-like routine, and making everyone worried…and, I wanted to get over that…"

He shook his head. "What?"

I shot him my best exasperated glance. "Basically, before you came along, I was hoping for something special…but then I learned I can't have it…" I paused, and cursed the stray tear that plopped to the floor. I begged the heavens to not have let him seen.

And yet, to my dismay, he gently put his fingers under my chin and made me face him. "Hey, don't cry," he said, using the pad of his thumb to swipe away another stray tear. I plucked his hand away from me and pulled my sleeve over my own, wiping up the wet trails and sniffling.

"What's wrong?" he asked softly.

I sighed and tears replaced the ones I had just gotten rid of. "I…I met this guy. And I fell in love—you know, first love and all that." My voice cracked and wavered as I continued. "He promised me forever—and I was stupid enough to believe him…but every time I saw him I just felt so…so…" I wasn't sure how to explain that feeling that he deserved someone better than me—pretty and strong and fast and immortal. Of course I couldn't reveal vampires without sounding like a nutcase.

"I felt so inadequate and unworthy every time I was around him. He was just so perfect in my eyes…" Tears continued to track silently down my face, and I just thanked the sky that I wasn't full out sobbing. I looked up to see sympathy in Peter's eyes as he listened. "And then…my birthday…the party went wrong and I saw it freaked him out. I gave him space because that's obviously what he wanted, but then—" I abruptly cut myself short.

"He just left. He took me to the forest and told me he didn't…he didn't…he didn't want me…and I…I—I wasn't good enough f—for him," I began to stutter my last words, small sobs and hiccups coming on. "And then he just…took off…and I t—tried to follow him…b—but I didn't know where I was going a—and…and…"

I sighed and stopped for a full fifteen seconds, trying to gather myself. I put my face in my hands and took a deep breath. And then I jumped as I felt something wrap comfortingly around me—but immediately knew it was Peter's arm. I bit my lip to quiet the sobs.

"And he's just gone…he took everything I had of him…" And then, with my next words, I wailed and turned fully into Peter's chest to soak his shirt. "He even took the present he gave me!" I sobbed and shook and cried.

And didn't stop. Peter held me, said a few things, but I couldn't possibly hear them. I would occasionally gasp for air, before sobbing and crying and blubbering something I didn't even know the meaning of. I was just gone in this dark misery I had constantly been holding back from both he and Claire.

Thinking about them only made it worse, in fact. Not only did it remind me of how pathetically dependent I was, but they had so many more problems than I did—and they were huge. A psychopath was after Claire and she had to hide from this infamous 'Company' so she wouldn't be kidnapped and tested like a lab rat. And Peter…I didn't even know where to begin with him.

Yet here I was, completely normal and happy aside from my break-up. And I couldn't keep myself together.

Pathetically pathetic.

Those words ringing in my head, I forced the tears to stop. I forced myself to unwrap my arms from around Peter's neck, and forced myself to scoot back to the chair, as somewhere in there I had migrated to the couch. I wiped away my tears and didn't look at Peter for a long moment as my cheeks flooded with a blush. I bent and allowed my hair to act as a curtain as embarrassment trampled any other emotion—besides, perhaps, horror at my actions. I had just allowed myself to become this huge, blubbering baby right in front of him. How idiotic could I be?

"Are you okay now?" he asked gently. "Or should I make sure I'm insured for floods?"

I laughed at the—admittedly—crappy joke, my cheeks cooling. I looked up at him and gave him my best smile; it wasn't much, but I tried. "I'm fine, thank you. I'm really sorry about your shirt."

He looked down and just seemed to notice that the whole front of his shirt from the chest down—literally—was soaked. He waved it off though, "I own a washer. It's alright." I smiled at him again, and it was easier this time.

"I'm sorry for breaking down on you," I whispered. "I'll leave, if y—"

"Don't worry about it, Bella," he chuckled. "I mean, I don't deal with crying girls every day, but this isn't the first time. And you don't have to go. Just give me a bit of a warning before you freak out next time, okay?"

I laughed, my mood brightening as he repeatedly threw in slight humor to the situation. "I don't intend to, but I'll remember that."

There was a moment of rather comfortable silence, in which I simply cooled down and cleared my mind, staring out the window at the now pouring rain. Finally, he spoke. "So, now that that's out in the open, what's your favorite color?"

I started. "What does that have to do with anything?"

He merely shrugged. "It seemed like a good way to change the subject."

I paused, thinking of an answer. What was my favorite color? The last time I was asked that question…well, I didn't think about that. I didn't want a repeat of my sob-fest, because I was pretty sure Peter would rethink not making me leave if I tried to pull that again. I went through each color, and didn't find one that I liked more than another—or one that I disliked.

"I like them all, I guess," I said after a while. "Colors in general are pretty, and we're lucky we have the ability to see them, unlike dogs, for example."

He took this in, before nodding. "I agree. That's a great way to think of it, I guess. You know, you're one of the most optimistic pessimists I've ever seen." I threw him a smile, yet couldn't find a witty comeback, so just remained silent.

"Animal?"

"Um," I began. "Again, animals in general are beautiful…except for bugs," I made a face to emphasize my disgust for the horrible little creatures that, sadly, were essential to nature.

He laughed, and moved on before I could ask him his favorite animal, "Food?"

I poked my stomach. "Food is good. I'll eat just about anything."

"Then what do you think about pizza? Because we're running out of things to cook and I'm getting pretty hungry." My stomach agreed before I could, loudly. I blushed.

"That would be a yes on my part," I said quietly, and he disappeared to call after asking me what I liked on it. He told me I could put on a movie or watch TV, and yet I didn't feel the need. I found that I preferred to talk to Peter, now that he was no longer awkward or hesitant around me. It seemed since we had healed Nathan, he was in a better mood. Speaking of Nathan…

Peter walked in. "He said it'd probably be thirty minutes or so, which is amazing." I furrowed my brows.

"Amazing?"

"You have no idea how long they take in Manhattan." I laughed slightly and nodded.

"Hey," I began as he sat down, "how's Nathan?"

He smiled. "He's great. The doctors are amazed by his recovery, and still scratching their heads. He'll be out tomorrow, actually. I need to take him to the airport."

"But Bella," he said after a moment. "I never really got to properly thank you. If you hadn't thought of that…I couldn't bear for Nathan to live the rest of his life like that, with his career ruined because of me…" he trailed off, and instinctively, I reached forward and put my hand on his.

He looked up at me and I smiled sadly. "Don't even worry about it Peter—it's better now. Why keep beating yourself up about it?"

I thought I hear him mutter something about preaching, but I didn't quite understand. "Thank you, Bella. Again."

I smiled wider. "'Least I can do for the man who saved my life."

He rolled his eyes. "That's an exaggeration you know," he argued.

"It's not, though," I replied seriously. "You saved my life, and I could never fully repay you for that. You saved Charlie and Renee so much trouble and worry…and besides, I wouldn't have been able to meet you and Claire if you hadn't saved me."

He smiled. "Are you saying you like us?"

I scoffed. "No, I just spend all of my time with you guys." We laughed, and then I brought my hand back, noticing I had probably left it on his longer than was socially acceptable.

With all the sentimental bits taken care of, we continued well on into the night with friendly banter and munching on a rapidly cooling pizza. In fact, I didn't even notice the clock tick into tomorrow.

REALLY QUCIK AN: I just wanted to know what your guess on the painting is. It'd really interest me to see some ideas! I mean, I already know and all that, but I wanna see what ya'll come up with.

Also, I personally hate this chapter. Maybe that's weird; I just always freak out and wonder if I got them in character, you know? Again, loads of dialogue. And yet…in the end, I still love Peter to pieces.

Alright, I hope you enjoyed!:D