All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author. No copying or reproduction of this work in any language is permitted without the express written authorization of the author. Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. Thank you. October 2010.

Many thanks to my incredible beta xrxdanixrx, who also created the banner. Check out her new fic: My Perfect Mr. Imperfect. XO hun!

Twilighted Beta – Shabbyapple. Thank you so much.

A million thanks to MizzezPattinson whose hospital insights are wonderful, and who also took the time out of her hectic schedule to pre-read this chapter for me. Much love, hun. I don't know what I'd do without you.

Thanks to all reading and reviewing. Let's see how Bella's doing.

Chapter 31

BPOV

"But, you were almost done," I choke out, feeling the tears escaping. Tears of pain for his work that is now probably destroyed, but mostly, tears of joy that he's alright. My chest heaves and my lungs cry out, making it impossible for me to launch myself at him, which is really all I want to do. I just want to hold onto him and never let him go. He's okay… he's safe, and I feel the relief course through me as he squeezes my hand.

"I can paint more. It doesn't matter. You're the only thing that matters to me. I can replace a stupid painting. I can't replace you," he whispers, his eyes searching mine, his voice sounding raspy and throaty.

"Edward," I manage. "I was…" I gulp desperately for air "…so scared." I try to sit up, but that appears to be an impossible task right now. I feel like I've run 60K with a forty pound weight strapped to my chest.

"I know you were, baby. You never have to be scared again. I'm going to make sure she can't hurt you anymore."

I shake my head at him while I try to take in enough air to form a sentence. "Not for me. For you. I didn't… I didn't know what…" I gasp and choke, my hand automatically flying to my throat as the scorching sensation starts to take over. "Edwar…"

Edward fumbles around in the bed, finding a cord and pressing a button on the end of it while I continue to wheeze. "Shhh. It's okay. I'm alright. You can't get yourself worked up. Try to relax." He runs his hand up my arm, his expression pained. "Where the fuck is the nurse?" He whips his head to the door while I try to breathe. "Emmett!" He's trying to yell, but his voice is laboured. He gets up off the bed and makes his way on shaky legs to the door just as Emmett bursts through it. "Get the nurse," Edward barks.

Emmett nods his head and disappears back out the door as Rose barrels her way past Edward and sits on the bed beside me. "Welcome back," she says softly, smiling down at me. Her presence calms me slightly, though breathing is still an effort. Her eyes lock to mine while she wordlessly gives me strength, much like she did on the mountain. "You know, you interrupted a perfectly good make out session I had going on in the waiting area with Emmett."

My breathing comes faster as I try to laugh. Only Rose would try to make jokes like that at a time like this. She squeezes my hand tighter, and my head sinks back further into the pillow while we wait.

XXXXXX

After Edward is forcibly removed from the room, kicking and wheezing, the nurses and the doctor are able to do an examination. They drone on about wanting to keep me on the oxygen mask for a bit longer... that it's pumping Ventolin into my system that will help with my breathing. I'm not a fan of the mask, but I also realize, given the circumstances, that I should be grateful this is all I have to endure.

They let me know that there doesn't appear to be any damage to my residual limb, and tell me that as soon as the mask is off, I need to get up and start moving. My throat feels like it's on fire, a raw, dry, burning sensation that needs to come to an end, and I simply can't imagine getting up and moving right now.

"Any questions, Miss Swan?" Dr. Yorkie asks.

"Edward?" The nurses and the doctor exchange questioning looks. "I need him." The enormity of those three little words isn't lost on me. I do need Edward. More than I've needed anyone in a long time, and not because I feel helpless or weak, but because he's become a part of me. All these years of waiting and hoping for something that I was starting to think didn't actually exist… for the dream we all have, to find the one who makes you a better person, who challenges you and tests you, and makes you want more.

Emotion overtakes me again and my breathing labours. More tears fall as realization hits me. I'm in love with him.

XXXXXX

I've decided I hate the sound of breathing. I've heard every single breath I've made since I woke up hours ago, thanks to the oxygen mask that I'd like to hurl across the room right now.

As I lie awake, unable to sleep without Edward, who has been banished back to his room by the evil nurses, I smile at the quirky additions Renee has made to the room. I recognize most of them immediately, having seen them for months after the skiing accident.

There are crystal healing stones lined up in a circular pattern to bring wellness, and the familiar scent of lavender emanating from the little wooden dish on the table beside the bed. She's even got the CD player plugged in and ready, I'm sure with some new age sounds of nature designed to heal me faster. I try to laugh, but succumb quickly to another round of wheezing.

As the wheezing subsides, Emmett pushes the door to the room open, wheeling Edward in. He looks more stressed out than he did earlier, if that's possible. The dark circles under his eyes are more pronounced, and his hair is just… there are no words. "Can I stay?" he asks shyly, staring at me hopefully from the wheelchair.

I nod my head and Emmett helps him move from the chair to the bed. "Thanks, Em," I rasp. He smirks at me and nods his head, leaving us quietly.

Edward grips my hand for dear life and clenches his eyes shut. "I know I shouldn't be in here, but…" His words trail while he watches me struggle to sit up in the bed. He wraps one arm around my waist and lifts me. I lean against his shoulder and cup his cheek with my hand, my entire body aching to feel him next to me. The warmth from his skin is better than any prescription they could ever give me.

"No, you should be here." He smiles and gently coaxes me back down to the bed. "Lie with me," I murmur, trying to inch over to give him room; that little movement proving to be extremely difficult.

Once I'm situated, he stretches his long legs out beside me and turns on his side to face me. He smoothes back my hair and kisses the top of my head while I feel fatigue start to take over. "Bella?"

"Mmmhmm." My eyes slide shut while I hang onto his hospital gown for dear life and try to breathe him in. He smells different… lingering smoke and sterile hospital disinfectant mixed with Mom's lavender concoction, but its still Edward, and I'll gladly take him any way I can.

I don't hear what he says as exhaustion takes me.

XXXXXX

A hushed voice swirls around me as I slowly wake, my breathing quickening while I reach for Edward, only to find a hot and extremely empty hospital sheet beside me. "Edward?" I try to push up from the bed and am immediately engulfed by familiar bulging biceps. My eyes flutter open to Jake's familiar smirk. "Jake?"

"If you wanted to spend more time with me, Bella, all you had to do was ask," he says sarcastically, easing me up to sit. He sighs deeply and his smile fades while he gently brushes my hair behind my shoulder. "You sure know how to scare the living hell of people. Always one for the dramatics."

"Sorry," I croak out.

"Sure, sure. Looks like you and I have some quality physio time ahead of us," he says, gently pulling the sheet down and looking at my leg intently. "Can I?"

"Since when did you start asking?"

He huffs and gently starts the comforting massage on my thigh, moving lightly to the end of the stump, his brow furrowed while he studies it intently. "There's some redness here, probably just from lack of it being cleaned properly last night." He shakes his head and mutters under his breath, his strong fingers working in circles. An awkward silence drifts between us, mixing with my ever present Darth Vader like breathing. "Is he worth it?" he asks finally. He stops his movements and stares at me critically.

"It's not his fault, Jake."

He narrows his eyes at me. "Yeah, Bella. It is his fault. You could have been killed," he states firmly.

"I could be killed crossing the street, or in my car, or doing a million different things," I argue. The last thing I need right now is for Jake to be judgmental.

"God, you're stubborn."

I laugh and cough. "Right back at you."

He snorts and pats my thigh, covering it back up with the sheet. "It'll be fine. Once they take the oxygen mask off today, they want you to get up and get moving. Guess what that means?" he asks, smiling wickedly at me.

"Quality physio time?"

He nods his head. "I'm going to expect you to keep up with me, Swan. Think you can handle that?" he asks cockily, lifting his eyebrows to me.

"Keeping up with you has never been a problem before."

He laughs loudly and squeezes my shoulder as the door to the room opens. I crane my head around Jake's massive frame and see Edward, standing in the doorway. He's glaring at Jake, his jaw set, his chest rising and falling quickly. "What the fuck are you doing?" Edward seethes.

Jake stands and crosses the room to him. "Relax, asshole. I'm her physiotherapist, remember?"

"I don't give a shit. You keep your fucking hands to yourself."

"Hey, she wouldn't be in here if it wasn't for you!" Jake fires back at him.

"Stop… please," I rasp, my lungs complaining.

"If I wanted your fucking opinion, I would have asked for it," Edward counters while they stand chest to chest in some ridiculous macho stare down.

I take a deep breath in. "Edwa… Edward," I try to yell, but it comes out as more of a squeak. Edward's head snaps from Jake to me, his expression instantly shifting.

"Fuck," he murmurs, brushing past Jake and sitting on the bed beside me. "I'm sorry, baby." He smoothes my hair back and kisses my forehead. "Can you give us a minute?" He glares at Jake, his eyes narrowed.

Jake relents and nods his head. "I'll be back later, Bella," he mutters, and reluctantly leaves.

"Try… try to be nice," I say, attempting to sound all authoritative once the door to the room is shut.

He huffs and tightens his grip around my waist. "It's difficult."

"He's important." His jaw unclenches and he sighs. "He'll help me get better faster," I explain.

He shuts his eyes "I'll try, but only for you." He traces his finger down my cheek, stopping at the strap for the oxygen mask. "I really want to kiss you," he murmurs.

"Me, too." I blink up at him, and he bites his lip, shaking his head. "You look better," I say, tracing my fingers over the prominent stubble on his jaw.

"I feel better this afternoon."

"No more hospital gown?" I ask, tugging on his black t-shirt.

"My dad brought me some clothes. I hate those fucking hospital gowns. Why would they pick such a horrible colour for people who already feel like shit? I mean, burnt lime green? Seriously?"

"Hmm. I thought you would like it for the easy access," I tease.

He smirks and brushes his fingers around the collar of my hospital gown. "There is that." He runs his hand from the collar, down my side, stopping at my hip. "Maybe we'll keep it," he suggests.

I quirk an eyebrow to him. "I'd rather not."

His expression changes instantly and he jerks his hand back. "I'm sorry," he says softly.

"It's not your fault, Edward. You can't think that way."

He rakes his hands through his hair and gets up from the bed, pacing. "I should have seen it! I should have-"

"Stop it. You can't do this to yourself," I interrupt him.

He stops pacing and sits back down on the bed. "I would never forgive myself if..."

I place my fingers over his lips, taking the opportunity to trace them, just to feel some part of him connected to me. "Don't. I'm fine, alright? And you need to just let this go." He nods and sighs, kissing my fingers and then lacing his with them.

"You were gone when I woke up," I whisper.

"Dr. Wonderkid said it was against the rules to be in bed with you."

"Stupid rules," I mumble.

He laughs and nods his head. We sit like that for a long time, with Edward pulling his fingers through my hair, kissing my forehead, and gently tracing my arms, our desperation to stay connected to each other winning out over my pure exhaustion. This is all I want and I all I need. Just Edward.

XXXXXX

The rhythmic sounds of an ancient drum stirs in my subconscious and my eyes flutter open to Renee, standing by my bed, her eyes shut as she moves her arms in wide slow circles. "Mom?"

"Shh. I'm channeling energy here, dear." I shake my head, saying nothing. It's not worth it for me to argue with her. I push up to sit in the bed and take a tentative deep breath. It burns, but not as badly as it did this morning. Hopefully, that means they can take the mask off.

She blows out a loud and deliberate breath, and opens her eyes. "Feel better?" she asks, plopping down on the bed beside me.

"A bit, actually."

"See? And you think all this stuff is useless," she says, waving her arms at the crystals beside the bed.

"Hmm. Where's Edward?"

She smiles and squeezes my hand. "He's talking with the police. They want to ask you some questions about what happened, if you're up to it," she says gently.

I nod my head at her. "Can I get this mask off? It's really starting to piss me off."

She throws her head back and laughs. "That nice young doctor is on rounds. I'm sure he'll be here soon," she says dismissively. She whips her cell phone out of the pocket of her sweater and starts texting.

"You're texting?"

She nods her head at me. "Phil. He went home to take Molson out. I need him to bring more lavender. This is running out, and we can't have that," she states, nodding her head to the wooden dish on the table.

I roll my eyes at her. "God forbid we run out of lavender, Mom."

She closes her phone and puts it back into her pocket. She gently picks up my hand and runs her fingers over the palm. "Such a strong will, even now, after everything," she murmurs.

"I've been through worse."

She shuts her eyes and squeezes my hand tighter. "Yeah. You have. I wish…" Her voice trails and she bites down on her lip, trying not to lose her composure.

"You wish what?"

She opens her eyes and stares at me. "That you didn't have to go through all of this, Bella."

I smile back at her. "I wouldn't be who I am if I didn't."

"I know that. But a mother never wants to see her child suffer. Even a crazy mother like me."

"Mom, you're not crazy. You're amazing. You know that."

She cocks her head to the side at me. "Yes, I am," she says, smiling and picking up one of the crystals. "A little unconventional, maybe…"

I take the crystal from her and roll it between my fingers. "I like unconventional. I wouldn't want it any other way."

XXXXXX

God knows how many hours later, Dr. Yorkie has removed the oxygen mask, and the nurses have drawn more blood than I knew I had. I'm propped up with a series of pillows and waiting for whatever they're going to put me through next. I don't like waiting, and I particularly don't like not being in control. I'm totally at the mercy of whatever tests the youngest doctor in history decides he wants to run, and the nurses who seem determined to keep me from seeing Edward.

The good news is, breathing is less painful, and the wheezing is starting to taper, just as Dr. Yorkie said it would. My leg, however, is another matter. It's starting to cramp from lack of movement, and I really wish Jake would make an appearance so we can get on with this and I can go home.

I'm just about to attempt to hop off the bed and put on my prosthetic myself, when Edward finally appears at my door. "Whoa. What are you doing?" he asks, propelling himself to the bed while I try to stand.

"I'm getting on with my life. It's driving me crazy just lying here," I say, the annoyance clearly evident in my tone.

"You shouldn't be trying to get up right now," he chastises me.

"This coming from the man who had to be wheeled into my room because he was too weak to walk? Since when are you the patron saint of following orders?"

He chuckles at me. "You're feeling better," he muses as he gently eases me back onto the bed. "The snarky comebacks have returned. I missed them." He cups my face between his hands, his mouth dropping open quickly. "The mask is gone?"

"A little while ago."

He runs his thumb over my dry lips, and I shut my eyes at the sensation. "They're so dry," he murmurs.

"Maybe you should do something about that."

"Yeah?" he asks, raising his eyebrows at me.

"Yeah."

He slowly leans forward, stilling his lips in front of mine. My heart hammers in my chest, every nerve ending in my body on hyper alert as he gently captures my lips, a low throaty moan emanating from him. His body relaxes against mine while he laces his fingers through my hair, holding me to him gently as I slide my tongue against his, desperate to taste him again.

My fingers grasp urgently at his hair as I throw everything I have into the kiss. I want him to feel how much he means to me, to know how close we both came to losing this, how together, we're both stronger than we are apart. I can hardly breathe as his lips move frantically, and he starts to ease me back onto the bed. I don't want to stop, and neither does he.

A throat clearing in the room is the only thing that keeps us from going further. Edward pulls back, keeping his eyes shut while I gasp for air and scowl at the doctor. "Mr. Cullen. Didn't I already discharge you?" Dr. Yorkie asks pointedly.

"I'm visiting. Is that against your long list of rules?" Edward snaps.

"Not right now, no, though visiting hours are over at nine." Edward looks like he may go for Dr. Yorkie's throat, but the doctor doesn't even acknowledge him, turning his attention to me. "Miss Swan, there are two police officers who would like a word, if you're feeling up to it, of course."

Edward looks at me warily. "Sure," I answer, staring at Edward, my heart racing with the fact that I have to relive this again, so soon. It's something I just want to tuck away and forget ever happened.

Edward protests, but the police want to hear my account of the events without him. Even the Charlie-was-my-father card doesn't sway them, and so, Edward is taken from me again as they make me step through what happened, detail by painful detail.

The good news is they've brought the hospital psychologist, Dr. Emily Young, with them. She's been assigned to counsel both Edward and I as we try to deal with the aftermath of the fire. She's warm and comforting, and I find myself squeezing her hand through my tears.

The police are patient and listen intently as I tell them how Jane threatened me, told me I'd never be enough for Edward, that she knew how to make him happy and would die trying to. How she admitted to being the one who chased me that first rainy night in the car, and tried to run us both down in the parking lot, and yes, even staked out my house, several times.

They give me no reaction when I tell them that she said she didn't want to hurt Edward, but that she would nurse him back to health if she did. They don't even bat an eye when I tell them that she admitted to setting fire to the studio to keep him with her, so he'd have to paint more.

The more I talk, the more laboured my breathing becomes, and the harder I squeeze Dr. Young's hand. She finally tells the officers that she thinks I've had enough.

When they leave the room, I sob into her shoulder, my tears soaking her silk blouse. I cry until the tears run dry and, with the help of Dr. Young, I curl up into the bed, completely and totally exhausted.

"You'll never be enough for him." Her dark, wild eyes, void of emotion, stare back at me, her voice lifeless and jarringly calm. "I told you I would have him and I will." As she stalks her way closer to the bed, I wake, shooting straight up, the panic attack overtaking me quickly while I gasp for air.

"Shh, Bella." Alice launches herself from the chair beside the bed and cradles me. "It's just a dream," she says over and over, trying to convince both of us, I think.

My heart hammers in my chest, the room spinning while I try to calm my breathing. "But it's not," I whisper into her shoulder.

Jasper tries to smile at me in reassurance from the end of the bed. They both stay with me, Alice holding me until I succumb to fatigue again.

XXXXXX

"It's been a while since you've been in here," Jake says, motioning to the treadmill in the physio room on the seventh floor. I nod at him and get on the treadmill, waiting for him to adjust the settings.

It has been a long time. I never expected to be in here again. It's not a place where happy memories reside. It's where Jake pushed me when I didn't think I could go another step, where he caught me each and every time I fell, and where we formed the bond that allows me to trust him above anyone else when it comes to knowing my physical limits. "Now, we're going to go slow today, okay? I mean it, Swan."

"Just start the damn machine, Jake."

"Music to my ears." He smirks and presses the start button, the treadmill moving slowly beneath my feet.

I keep up with it easily for just over five minutes, and then, I roll my eyes at him. "Seriously? We've been running together for years. I'm pretty sure I can handle something a bit faster."

He shakes his head and presses the up arrow a few times on the machine. It starts to speed up, taking me to a slow jog. "You okay?" he asks, eyeing me intently.

"Yeah," I manage to say, even though I'm not okay. "Faster." My lungs feel like they're going to explode, and my thigh is stiff from lack of movement over the past three days. He shakes his head at me and hits the stop button on the treadmill.

He snakes his arm around my waist and helps me off, sitting me in the red plastic chair beside the machine. "Baby steps, Bella. You can do this, but you need to listen to me."

I clench my eyes shut while he squats in front of me and runs his hands up to my thighs. "You need time to heal before we start running like we used to again. Give it a couple of days, okay? You can take walks and hold hands with Mr. Fantastic. You know… the romantic shit that chicks like."

"Chicks? Is that what you're calling Leah now?" I ask while my breathing starts to calm.

He snorts and grabs a bottle of water from his backpack. He hands it to me and watches while I take a long sip. "Relationships are a lot of hard work," he says reflectively.

"Thanks for the update, genius."

"I'm trying here. Cut me some slack." I smirk and nod my head at him. "When did you know that you were… you know… into him," he asks quietly.

I swallow a large gulp of water and stare back at him. "If I'm being honest, I was attracted to him the first time I met him. I was a royal bitch to him, though," I admit.

"He probably deserved it," he scoffs.

"No one deserves to be treated the way I treated him. I mean, yeah, he was messed up. Well, he still is, but so am I. Why are you asking me this?"

He rubs the back of his neck nervously. "I think, I may be… well, sort of, kind of… in love with Leah," he stammers.

I raise my eyebrows to him. "Sort of, kind of in love?" I mock.

"How do you know if you really are, or if it's just really hot sex?"

I nearly spit out my water. "Thanks for the visual."

"Anytime." He looks at me anxiously. "So?"

"I think it's different for everybody. You can't imagine being without them, you think about them all the time, if something ever happened to them… it would be like losing a part of you." He smiles and nods his head quickly at me. "So, you're in love, then?"

He flashes me one of his signature smiles. "Yeah. I think I am." He holds his hand out to me, and I take it, slowly lifting out of the chair. "Let's get you back to your room, Swan. I'm sure Mr. Fantastic is waiting."

XXXXXX

I'm pacing… again. It's all I've done for the last day. When I'm not being subjected to x-rays, or blood work, or Rose and Alice's interrogations – theirs were worse than the police, if that's possible – I pace.

I've seen Edward only sporadically, which is unsettling. He alternates between meeting with his dad and his insurance agent, and sleeping with me in the miniscule spot on my bed, clinging to me for dear life. He hasn't gone back to the apartment. He says he doesn't want to without me.

These last few days, he has been a bundle of nervous energy. He refuses to paint until he can see the studio, and he refuses to see it without me. Alice and Rose are right. We are truly two of the most stubborn people on the planet.

Even though we both have sat through counseling sessions to deal with post traumatic stress, I have a feeling that Edward isn't going to really react to the enormity of what's happened to him until we go back to the apartment… to the studio to see what's left… if anything is.

On the sessions we've had together over the last couple of days, he's spent most of the time rolling his eyes and looking annoyed when Dr. Young explains that it's normal to experience anxiety, sadness, and even depression after a fire. He continually tells her he's fine, and that he just needs to get back to his normal… whatever that is for him.

While I'm making my eightieth circuit around the floor, the nurses arrive with a large and unusual flower arrangement, gushing over it while they set it on the table by the bed. I open the card, curious as to whom they're from. Virtually everyone I know has either been staked out here or has come to visit.

Bella,

Heard what happened and I'm in shock.

Hope you are better soon. Come and see me when you are.

Fondly,

James

I shudder and am more than a little shocked by the gesture. I promptly give the flowers to the nurses to take to another patient. I'm fairly certain Edward would have a coronary if he knew James sent me flowers. The last thing we need right now is more stress.

After the nurses disappear with the flowers, I sit, bored out of my mind while I wait for Edward on the side of the bed. I've done all of the exercises Jake has requested, twice, and am about ready to lose it if I'm not let out of here soon.

Edward finally saunters into the room, freshly shaven and happier than I've seen him since this happened. I stand from the bed and look up hopefully at him as Dr. Yorkie joins him. "You're free to go," Edward says, stalking to me and wrapping his arms around my waist.

"Really?" I ask, looking at the doctor questioningly. He nods his head in agreement.

"Yes. I signed your release papers this morning. Your blood work and X-rays both look good. Thankfully, there is no lung damage or trachea scarring. I understand from Mr. Black that you and he run together?" Dr. Yorkie asks while Edward stiffens beside me. He's clearly not happy about me spending time with Jake, but he's going to have to get used to it.

"Yeah. We've been running together since my skiing accident."

"Good. I encourage you to keep doing that, starting out slowly, of course. You'll probably experience shortness of breath, maybe some chest pain if you try to head out too quickly. Your lungs are clear, but they've been through a lot. You're in good hands with Mr. Black. You should be back to your normal exercise routine in about two weeks," he explains.

"Thank you, Dr. Yorkie," I tear myself away from Edward and hug him.

He pats my back awkwardly, pulling back quickly. These doctors are so clinical. They could use a lesson in bedside manner. "Good luck to both of you," he says, nodding and shutting the door behind him.

I turn to Edward and wrap my arms around his waist, "No more horrific green hospital gown? No more cardboard food?" I ask sarcastically.

"I'll even make you dinner," he says suggestively, smiling widely at me.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." His smile fades instantly. "After we go to my apartment."

XXXXXX

Just over an hour later, we pull up in front of Edward's apartment. He's been unusually quiet on the drive from the hospital. He turns the car off, shuts his eyes, and grips the steering wheel while I watch him anxiously. He finally opens his eyes and gets out of the car, darting to the passenger side to open my door and help me out.

A police officer I recognize from the hospital is standing in front of the door, just as Edward said he would be. There is also an older man with balding hair, and another man and a woman who are holding onto each other, looking just as anxious as Edward did in the car.

Edward pulls me in the direction of the couple and stops in front of them. "Bella, this is my dad, Carlisle, and Esme, his girlfriend," he introduces.

Some warning would have been nice, is my first thought, as I stand here having not had a proper shower in over four days and feeling like I want to throw up. At least I'm dressed well, thanks to Alice who brought over a change of clothes to me this morning.

"It's so nice to meet you," I say, holding my hand out.

Carlisle has other ideas and ignores my hand, engulfing me in his arms and squeezing me tightly. "Bella," he breathes, pulling back to look at me closely. "We were so worried. We saw you in the hospital. You weren't awake, of course, but we've spent time with Renee and Phil."

"Oh, yes, they're just lovely," Esme says politely. Oh dear God. They've spent time with Renee without me? I shudder to think what embarrassing childhood stories she has unleashed on them.

"I hope that wasn't too painful," I joke. Carlisle laughs and shakes his head, smiling at Edward.

"Let's get this over with," Edward mumbles. He moves to the door, on a mission it seems, sliding the key into the lock, and opening it slowly. He stops and turns back to me, holding his hand out. I take it and squeeze it tightly as he pulls me into the apartment.

The faint smell of smoke lingers in the air, the apartment covered in a heavy dusting of soot. He peers tentatively into the living room, his body relaxing slightly. The couches and wall unit all appear to be fine, as does the kitchen.

The police officer surveys the foyer and then steps to the side, clearing the way for the bald man to enter. "How many paintings were in your studio?" the man asks, wasting no time.

"Nineteen," he answers, looking directly at Carlisle. Carlisle smiles and looks away.

"Size of the paintings?"

"I don't know… different sizes, Jenks. We've been through this," Edward barks, clearly annoyed at the question from the man, who I'm assuming is Edward's insurance agent.

"And the estimated value of these paintings?" Jenks asks, writing feverishly on a clipboard.

"Why don't you fucking ask the person who started the Goddamn fire?" Edward seethes.

"Edward!" Carlisle admonishes while the police officer stiffens beside him.

"This is fucking bullshit, Carlisle! How the fuck do I know how much they were worth? Jane did all of that shit."

"Mr. Cullen, I'm just trying to help," Jenks states.

Edward huffs in annoyance, his shoulders slumping forward. "My last collection went for over nine million when they were all sold in the end. Does that help?"

Jenks nods his head, and I squeeze Edward's hand in reassurance. "So, it's fair to say, these paintings would be worth at least that much?" Jenks asks.

"I guess. I don't know. Art is subjective, but probably at least nine million," Edward mutters. I'm in shock. I mean, I knew at least one of his paintings sold for a million dollars, but I had no idea they were worth that much.

"Were they exposed to extinguishers, water from the hoses?" Jenks asks.

"I don't fucking know," Edward says, his entire body coiling in frustration as he looks anxiously up the stairs.

"I'm going to need to see the studio, Edward, to assess damages," Jenks says calmly while he moves to the staircase.

Edward drops my hand and launches towards Jenks, pulling on his shirt and hauling him off the first stair. "Get the fuck off my stairs," he practically growls, while the police officer steps between them.

"We're going to remain calm, right? We're all here for the same reason, Mr. Cullen," the officer says to him in warning.

Edward drops his hand from Jenks' shirt and takes a step back from him. "I'm sorry, but we need to determine the extent of damage to each of your paintings. I need to be able to see whether we're dealing with widespread damage, or simply surface discolouration, blistering, burning, water damage…" Jenks' voice trails, while he starts for the stairs again.

"I said, get the fuck off my stairs. No one sees my work before it's done," Edward fumes.

Jenks exchanges a worried glance with the police officer as Edward motions for me to join him. I stop in front of the officer while Edward continues up to the studio. "He'll be alright. Just give us a minute, okay? It's difficult for him." Both the officer and Jenks nod, and I join Edward on the second floor.

I lace my fingers with his and lean into his side. He looks down at our fingers, takes a deep breath and steps into the studio. I follow him tentatively, taking in the room, feeling the tears well up instantly.

The desk that used to house his iPod and all of his brushes and paints has been reduced to charred, ashen remains of wood, piled in a messy heap. The previously pristine hardwood floor is black with soot and scorched in several places. The wall behind the desk is covered with water stains. The ladder that he stood on to paint in the furthest corners of the canvas has been knocked to the floor in front of one of the easels.

I watch as he walks to the first covered canvas in the room and hesitates in front of it. He takes a deep breath and then, he pulls the white cotton cover off of it and each of the remaining canvasses, one by one, dropping the covers to the floor. His eyes are wild, dark and burning as he goes back to the first painting and takes his time, running his fingers over it gently.

I feel the tears betray me and start to fall. I know it's bad. He's not speaking, not even moving as he stops in front of the piece for the auction, his hands clenched into tight fists.

I look at the paintings, trying to gauge if they're salvageable. I have no idea… some of them look fine, others, closer to where the charred remains of the desk are, seem to have a film of soot over them, but they are all still here, and still in tact. That has to mean something. There must be something we can do to save them.

He sinks his fingers into his hair, raking them through repeatedly, saying nothing. I'm paralyzed where I stand, not knowing whether I should go to him or not, feeling like maybe I'm intruding on something that is so personal and clearly life changing for him.

I don't know how much time passes while he stands in the studio, just staring at each of the paintings, his expressions twisting and turning, until he finally turns to me, the tears running freely down his face. He looks utterly defeated and lost.

His shaky voice fills the room. "Can I stay with you?"

Chapter end notes:

Up next, EPOV. As always, let me know what you're thinking. Renee's healing music:

Earth Drum - Ancient Way - David & Steve Gordon:

www (dot) youtube .com/watch?v=f6OW2lA-cWA&feature=related