Fifty Shades of Suffering Find the Light

by CodependentLiza

A tender rendition of Twilight painted back over Fifty Shades, with Edward as Christian as Edward and Bella as herself...or as herself as codependentliza always writes her, which is far more self-denigrating, relational, overwhelmed & vulnerable than SM's Bella would ever have dreamed-except in New Moon. Let the unrestrained mutual caretaking begin! AH/AU Twilight canon couples

7. Chapter 7

This is for the wonderful wantonlytoread, for her gentle and patient encouragement, and for all my other Fanfic friends (you know who you are, you lovely ladies-THANK YOU! I'll be back in my in-box soon) for their loyal support as well as their uplifting, insightful conversation...and for the beauty they all bring to the world in their non-fanfiction lives too.

And for my face-to-face friend, Rebecca, who never (ever) points out how crazy I am to STILL be posting nude emotion-selfies and needy fanfic on here at my ripe (and sometimes rotten) old age.

Finally, it's for you, dear remaining reader, with my apology for how little I get posted of late. Like you, I battle every day to balance one important responsibility against another, to give a little love and effort to all the people and causes so in need of it, while trying not to overlook myself lest I throw up my hands at all there is to do with the childish frustration of an unloved psyche and an uncared-for body.

Which is how I justify the time I steal for writing, and for reading—the maintenance of that psyche, the soul-chocolate that makes me feel loved and wanted and valued and secure and beautiful, even if it's only in my imagination.

But it's even easier to justify if I'm writing for you too, so thank you for your time in reading this, and in writing reviews if you feel like doing so. I'm still struggling to accept feedback, as my life has not been a series of positive experiences with other people's opinions of me (wink, wink, self-sarcastic understatement), but that doesn't mean I don't value your opinions, or your suggestions, or most especially, your feelings. I just don't know what to do with them yet, as I'm still trying to make good use of my own.

That's probably enough said for a beautiful spring morning with two doggies crossing their legs and eyeing their leashes, so a happy spring to you! And may beauty bloom in your life as well as in your garden, wherever it may be.

Yours with love,

liza

p.s. I feel I've been forgetting to thank Ms. Stephenie Meyer in my recent postings, and that won't do. The meta-characters she created—the archetypes in modern dress—serve us so well, as much in their foibles and failures as in their strength and beauty. Like a literary mirror, she's given us the power to see ourselves more clearly, and be surprised by what we find, both good and bad, staring back.

As I get older, I worry less about finding a knife-wielding (or vampire-fanged) murderer behind me in a foggy bathroom mirror, and worry more about finding the selfish, violent pieces of my own soul staring back at me from within the faces and actions of those I love, and those I meet along the way. Which burden is what made Edward, Edward, isn't it?

So I must learn from New Moon, and my own life's disasters, and not throw all the good away just because of the blood-thirsty, or affection- and praise-hungry, vampire within, but keep holding on to what is loving and beautiful—in me, in you, and in this space we share.

Blessings and thanks be to SM (and Fanfiction dot net) for creating this space to begin with, and blessings and thanks be to you for sharing it with me!

XxXxXx

Bella leaves her dreams—unusually intense and satisfying—slowly in the morning. She didn't set her alarm the night before, so it's the sunlight pouring in the window that forces her awake.

She feels happy when she finally wakes up, though she doesn't know or remember why. Awash in a sublime sense of contentment and in the sunshine, she stretches under the covers, humming with pleasure.

Until her hand brushes against a piece of paper lying on the pillow next to her own. The moment she feels this unexpected item in her sleeping space, a knot forms in her stomach, and the contentment shades into an uncertainty—still happy at its base, but with a flavor of anxious worry that grows as she sits up, dragging the paper in front of her and seeing the writing on it.

It is somehow both elegant and masculine, the long-looped scrawled handwriting in bold black ink across a piece of her own notepaper. And what it says shatters the contentment entirely, leaving only the anxious worry grown into nauseating fear.

Good morning, Isabella!

Stay put in bed, Sweetheart. I'll be there soon with breakfast.

Underneath the command—which sends shivers up her neck and across her chest, making her pull the blanket around her more tightly as she draws in a deep breath—was another word, crossed out: Yours.

And beneath that were two words, underlined with a flourish and bigger than the rest: Your Edward.

That does it.

Casting the note aside like it is setting her hand on fire, Bella leaps out of bed with unaccustomed grace, landing in a crouch on the floor beside her bed like a gymnast dismounting from a vault.

Standing up straight, she looks wildly around the room, expecting to find someone watching her—and both relieved and disappointed that no one is there.

She moves quickly to the bathroom, checking over her shoulder as she goes as if expecting someone to barge in at any second, and attends to her most–pressing morning need. She's so distracted by the potent combination of anxious fear and exhilarating hope that she doesn't notice the stuffed snow leopard staring at her from its perch between the cold- and hot-water handles of the sink before she's standing in front of it.

Bella stares back for a moment or two. Then, after quickly washing and drying her hands without taking her eyes off the stuffed animal, she gingerly reaches out her hand for the notepaper (one of her own again) folded and tucked between the leopard's head and paws. Roaaarrrrr! Back to bed, Isabella! Your Edward says so, is what she reads.

Dropping the note in the sink this time, she races for the bathroom linen closet where she keeps, among other things, her running clothes. Stripping off her nightgown and dressing faster than she ever has before, she sweeps her hair up in a messy ponytail as she runs out of the bathroom and then her bedroom and down the hall, not stopping except to grab her keys from the entryway (but not her phone).

After racing down the stairs to the lobby, she's out the front door and across the street to Central Park, losing herself in the Saturday morning throngs just moments before a large black Audi SUV pulls up in front of her building. It immediately discharges one Edward Cullen onto the sidewalk with two bags containing the promised breakfast in his hands.

Edward pauses at the front door. Something—a sixth sense perhaps, or more likely a growing understanding of Isabella's tendency to flee overwhelming situations and people—makes him turn around and scan the busy scene in the park across the way.

But he finds nothing of consequence; just the predictable stream of people heading into the park on a beautiful fall morning.

Frowning at his growing sense of unease, Edward enters the security code, then moves with assurance into the building. He races up the same stairs, taking them two at a time, that Bella had just raced down.

Reaching Bella's and Rose's apartment, Edward raps once loudly before letting himself in with the key he lifted from Mrs. Cope the night before.

Not hearing anybody stirring, Edward deposits breakfast on the kitchen table then strides towards Bella's bedroom while saying loudly, "Good morning, ladies. It's just me." He checks all the rooms on his way to verify they're Isabella-less, which of course they are.

When he finds Bella's bedroom door open, Edward frowns a second time—more deeply now as his unease has increased to real worry—and walks right in. He quickly takes in the disheveled bed, his crumpled note tossed to the side, and the open bathroom door…and his heartbeat ramps up as the familiar-from-long-ago bitter taste of panic fills his mouth.

Calling out "Isabella" without hope of an answer, Edward sticks his head in the bathroom, surveys the second note in the sink and the open linen closet door, and heads back out, moving faster than before, first for a quick survey of the bedroom's closet, then down the hallway to Rose's room.

After knocking loudly on her closed bedroom door, he gruffly shouts, "Rose! I'm coming in!" as he makes good on his word.

Rosalie has stirred at the noise, and is just rubbing the sleep out of her eyes as Edward makes his intrusive entrance.

"Rosalie!"

"Edward!"

They speak at the same time and in matching tones of irritation, although Edward's has an urgency to it that Rose notices even in her half-awake and fully-ticked-off state. Scowling at the intruder, she spits, "There had better be a good reason for your presence in my bedroom without an invitation."

Edward ignores the bluster and asks urgently, "Where is Isabella?"

Rose frowns at him. She's irritated further by his use of Bella's full name, but also concerned at Edward's panicked tone. "I don't know! I haven't been up yet, in case you haven't noticed. Isn't she in her room?"

"No, Rose, she isn't. She woke, appears to have gotten dressed—is there someplace she usually goes on Saturday mornings? Out for breakfast with a friend, maybe?"

Rose is not happy to have to tell Edward what Bella usually does, so she looks down and picks at a blanket on her bed as she answers, in an affected-off-hand tone, "Oh, she's probably gone out for her morning run."

She's right to not want to tell him this. His reaction is explosive. "Her morning run?" he repeats incredulously, then adds, "Alone?"

Rose is immediately on the defensive. "Yes, Edward, alone. This may come as a shock to you, but modern women do many things alone. We go to work alone, we eat out alone, we even—" and here she pauses to put her hands to her cheeks and drop her jaw in mock surprise—"go running in highly-populated public spaces alone sometimes. It isn't a problem."

Edward glares at her, then spits back, "You're right. It's not a problem; it's a disaster! Where does she usually go?"

"Into the Park, of course. And it's hardly a disaster, Edward. She runs there almost every day!"

"Not anymore she doesn't," he throws back at her as he exits Rosalie's room and jogs to the exit, pulling out his phone as he goes.

Pulling up Isabella Swan's cell number, he hits "Connect" as he reaches for the front door, then pauses on the threshold as he hears the most unwelcome sound of a cell phone ringing on the entryway table.

Turning back around, he picks up the offending instrument and verifies it is indeed Bella's cell phone, an unbelievably old-fashioned model that he pockets, knowing he will be replacing it that day—just as soon as he's located his girl.

Unable to trace her with technology, he realizes he's going to need man-power, so he calls Taylor next as he goes back down the stairs, having ignored the hollered inquiries from Rose's room as she goes about getting dressed in running gear herself, almost as quickly as Isabella had earlier that morning.

Following Edward down the stairs, Rose comes up to where he is standing on the sidewalk, leaning into an open door of the idling SUV and strategizing with Taylor.

Taylor indicates with a glance that someone is standing there, causing Edward to look back over his shoulder Rosalie's direction.

He spits out "What?" at her, more-than-a-little rudely in his fear and anger.

"I'm here to help you find Bella," Rose responds, too chastened at the new awareness of how irresponsible she's been in allowing, even encouraging, Bella to run around New York City by herself to take offense at Edward's tone.

Edward stares at her for a second, assessing the seriousness of her bearing and the lack of snark in her response, and, deciding she will make a useful ally in the hunt, says simply, "Good."

Stepping to the side a little and opening the Audi's door wider, Edward briskly waves Rose into the huddle and she joins them, offering what she knows about Bella's preferred paths.

Rose's knowledge is not as extensive as the two men would have hoped, for she is not a morning person and very rarely accompanies Bella on her Central Park jogging excursions. But it gives them two likely routes as starting points, with the benefit that the routes head out in opposite directions and come back the same main middle path, allowing them to attempt a pincer maneuver—as long as their quarry is indeed in the Park and in the general vicinity of their search.

To cover the other contingencies, Taylor is calling up the available security staff Edward has working either at his home or his company headquarters, as well as any off-duty security staff that can be tracked down, while also disseminating Isabella's photo to all of his extensive law-enforcement and private security contacts around the City.

The photo is one taken surreptitiously of Bella by Edward at the table the night before. It is a slightly-off-center head shot, Isabella's chin resting against one of her hands and her beautiful face alight with happiness while engrossed in the conversation around her.

Edward had already made the stolen photo his phone's wallpaper in the car on the way home the night before. And though his heart hurts at how quickly and ignorantly he has allowed the precious girl in it to face the dangers of the world alone, he is grateful indeed that he has the picture for use in tracking her down.

Then, when she has been located and brought home safe and sound, he promises himself, he will make certain she is never this vulnerable, and he is never this afraid, ever, ever again.

Not waiting for Taylor, who will be kept very busy for some time making phone calls and sending texts then fielding the inquiries and hopefully useful information that will come in return, Edward and Rose agree on the route each will take and run across the street—unapologetically jaywalking with the blaring horns to prove it—to get started in the search.

Each has their cell phone gripped firmly in their hands, a photo of Isabella at the ready for inquiring of sidewalk vendors or security guards or old ladies on park benches as they run their routes.

It's Edward who gets the first sighting. It's second-hand, from a particularly gregarious homeless woman in residence on her favorite Central Park perch: a bench situated next to the trash can by a hot dog and pretzel vendor, where she often is able to intercept goodies that would otherwise go to waste.

Edward had taken a precious moment to share his Isabella photo—and a $50 bill—with the vendor himself, but the vendor had just arrived and had been too occupied setting up shop for the day to pay any attention to all the passers-by.

"Yoo-hoo! Young man!" the both more- and less-decrepit dowager than the one he had dealt with the night before who is sitting just a few feet away calls to him with authority and promise.

Edward decides to trust the promise, so instead of ignoring the summons and continuing on, he makes direct eye contact, nods, and jogs quickly over to the royal seat.

Sitting down a respectful distance away, Edward holds his phone out to the old lady and asks, "Have you seen this girl jog by today?"

The lady looks at the picture and smiles, both at the girl's beauty and innocence (which in her world is even more impressive, desirable and absolutely impossible than physically attractive features), and at the fact that indeed, she has seen the girl this morning.

Edward sees the light of what he hopes is recognition and leans in closer, despite the smell. "Please, which way did she go?"

The lady sizes him up now, conducting her own assessment as to whether this fancy young man in expensive-looking leather shoes and bearing unusually-sophisticated gadgetry (not just the watch and cell-phone, but the subtly-designed ear piece for maintaining contact with Taylor catch her sharp eyes) is up to any good, or not. She may be destitute, but her mind continues more sharp and agile than most…albeit burdened and diminished as it must be by the strain of her daily fight for survival. In particular, she is quite skilled at assessing the wealth, intentions and both moral and practical trajectories of those around her—and almost always better than those she sums up are at understanding themselves.

Tilting her head to the side, her eyes narrow as the worthy lady (her name, long-forgotten, is Amelia May) stares at Edward, as if she is flipping through the magnification levels to get to the absolute clearest picture of his private soul.

Edward, desperate not to ruin this opportunity for concrete information on Isabella's whereabouts, waits patiently as Amelia May conducts her survey and sits back, weighing her evidence. "Why do you want to know?" she finally asks, her voice quieter now and sounding more raspy and disused at such an intimate volume.

Edward doesn't hesitate. "Because she's alone, and scared, and Central Park is no place for someone like her to be running around by herself."

Amelia May nods at this; it's a good answer. He passes so far, but there's one more important question he must answer. Lowering her brows, her eyes unblinking and intense, she leans in to Edward and bites back, "Why is she alone and scared?"

Edward pauses a moment, and laughs once, briefly and without humor. He feels like he's fallen into a medieval quest, or a mythical story—one with a series of hideous challenges with frightening creatures to survive before being rewarded with…the princess. Or a golden fleece or some-such, but Edward has no use for gold.

Closing his eyes briefly as he draws breath to respond, Edward channels his inner valiant knight, a personage he previously didn't know was in him and now is getting stronger with every passing moment spent in Isabella's presence or in the thrall of her absence. "Because I made a grave error in judgment leaving her alone last night after promising I would take care of her. Because I am everything she both most wants and most fears, as she can't let herself believe that I am a man of my word, and that I genuinely want her, no need her, and value her in a way all the other idiots, especially male idiots, in her life before me have not. Which means I have to be one step ahead of her psyche and its attempts to protect itself, and her, and not one step behind like I am this morning."

Finally, his eyes open and his mind clear, he turns back to the lady watching him and concludes, "Which is why I really need your help in telling me which way she ran. Please."

Amelia May smiles at him, revealing all her missing teeth. He's passed. And her own world is just a little brighter, knowing such chivalry still exists somewhere, even if it has no direct bearing on her. "Alright then. She ran towards the ruckus over there," and her trembling hand points down the main path that Edward had already been following, which they can both see leads towards some event underway with a large number of people gathered, the rumble of many feet and voices punctuated by occasional cheers in response to an over-amplified announcer's voice.

Edward nods and rises, disappointed at the mob scene awaiting him in which locating a short, shy and skittish girl may be harder than finding the proverbial needle in the haystack.

He turns back towards the lady as she finishes, "But she turned around and ran back this way, then took that path there." Her tremulous voice and trembling hand finish in synchrony, both now pointing towards a little-used foot path branching off under some trees to the right of the main walkway.

Edward grins, his good humor as close to restored as it will be until Isabella's hand is in his own, and says "Thank you!" before running off in the direction she's indicated. After two footfalls he pivots, then asks, "Will you be here a while longer?"

She laughs at him; a cackle, really. "Where else am I going to go, young man?"

Edward nods once gravely in return. "Until later then. I'll introduce you to my girl."

And with a wink, he's off, raising a spray of dirt and dust as he sprints down the narrow path he never would have taken without Amelia May's help.

Amelia May claps her hands together and laughs her pleasure, but is immediately caught back up in her own life as the indulgent parent of a greedy child approaches the trash can with a pretzel with only one bite out of it and an almost-full cup of strawberry smoothie. "Now now, don't waste good food!" she remonstrates, reaching out her hands, her claw-like hands—the physical detail that bears the most resemblance to her counterpart back in the ritzy Central Park apartment building overlooking her bench.

And with a still-warm pretzel and still-cold smoothie to enjoy as the sun shines down, along with the satisfaction of having made someone else's life turn out better than her own, the happiness of Amelia May's morning is complete.

XxXxXx

Bella, on the other hand, is anything but happy. She's overwhelmed, lost, and scared, and growing exponentially more so as she finds herself in a removed glen, a few boulders around a grassy patch and a number of overhanging trees providing privacy, where a knot of men has already gathered.

As she jogs between the rocks that mark the entry to the little area, Bella pauses, and watches wide-eyed as the knot opens up revealing four young to middle-aged men in various states of poor hygiene and disrepair. One is holding an open liquor bottle, and they all smell as if they have been partaking of it.

Bella wisely starts to re-trace her steps, but in moving backwards bounces off what she thinks is a rock that wasn't there before, falling forward onto the ground.

The men laugh, and as a group move towards her, making Bella scramble back up quickly and turn to find her way back the way she's come from—only she can't see the way out because it's blocked by a fifth man she had passed in the bushes to the side, relieving himself discreetly enough that she didn't see him until he'd boxed her in.

"Well, look what Jerry's caught for us!" one of the men in the middle, the one with the gold tooth in front and the ripped plaid shirt that hasn't been washed for a very long time, croons.

The men are now circled around her, most not quite close enough to touch her yet but spaced so that she wouldn't be able to escape between them—as Bella realizes after a quick survey of the circle. Wrapping her arms around herself to try and counter the intense cold that has her body shaking and her voice quavering, Bella speaks to the man called Jerry and pleads, "Please, let me through? I need—I need to go home!"

Most of the men around her laugh at this earnest request, with varying degrees of evil pleasure and awkward discomfort, for only one of them—the gold-toothed ringleader—would truly like to cause the young girl suffering for the pleasure of it, while two more are glad to take their own animal satisfaction wherever they can find it and are hoping they might find it here.

The other two, including the hapless Jerry, are dismayed at being caught themselves in this situation, turned ugly so quickly, but without the strength of character to stand up to the ringleader or defy their friends' desires. They also both don't realize that there is another in their group feeling the wrongness as they each do, or they might—maybe—have utilized the strength in their small number to at least leave the scene.

But they both pretend, fooling each other better than the psychopath in charge, who delights in torturing them with their consciences…but not nearly as much as he's going to enjoy torturing the terrified little girl trembling in his lair. He's just calculating how long it's likely to take for the girl to piss herself, licking his lips at the thought of the smell—and taste—of her fear, when his growing pleasure is interrupted by a very unwelcome sound: an aggressive male voice from outside of his little party.

"Let. Her. Go." The command is clear, as is the threat underlying it.

The psychopath scoffs; a quick survey shows only one man present, and a relatively thin, unarmed one at that. "Get out of here," he spits back at the intruder, his own threat manifested not just in his tone, but in the hand that pulls out an oversized hunting knife.

He's glad the girl is staring at her would-be savior and not at him, for he's eagerly anticipating watching her pupils dilate when he lets her see the knife for the first time. He'll fix that asshole boy scout good if the surprise of the first knife sighting, and the satisfaction that always brings him, is ruined.

Then again, maybe he should fix the boy scout anyway. After all, there's five—

"Where the f- are you going?" the psychopath growls at the two cowards trying to slink away into the underbrush.

"He's got a phone!" squeaks Reggie, an even bigger p- than Jerry in the ringleader's estimation, and so he's just about to echo back "He's got a phone!" in his highest, squeakiest, most-derisive voice when he realizes that indeed, the intruder does have a phone, and appears to be using it for a series of group photo shots.

And just as he's about to lunge for the intruding asshole and do the dirty work himself—normally he prefers to do only the fun stuff, and leave the initial knocking down and incapacitating to his willing accomplices, but the idiots are slow to get started and so won't work fast enough for pretty rich boy here—he hears p.r.b./asshole-boy scout talking out loud, as if to himself, "Got the pictures, Taylor?"

And the psychopath, being as smart as most psychopaths are, realizes that he may be the one at the disadvantage now. Which would enrage him, if he was capable of such strong emotion, but instead is more of an annoying realization quickly acted on as he backs away towards the opposite path exiting the clearing where Reggie and Jerry have already fled.

Realizing his two most willing, though stupid, associates remain standing, drooling over the little girl still staring at the intruder, he throws out, "Enjoy the day then; we'll be going" and tips his head un-subtly behind him when Marcus and Jonny finally look his way before he turns around and strolls away—waiting to pick it up to a jog until he is out of the clearing and hearing the police sirens headed his way.

It is not his day, as becomes clear to the psychopath when he exits straight into the waiting cuffs of a park police detachment. He'd been immediately id'd off the photos taken by Edward and forwarded by Taylor to Taylor's top contact at the NYPD, where the central figure was well-known as a person of interest in several federal crimes, and a few local attacks as well. And so this morning marks the end of the psychopath's career.

It is the end as well for the out-of-prison violence of his two current closest colleagues, who are wanted for an aggravated-assault apiece. They prove invaluable to the state in their willingness to testify against the gold-toothed psychopath, whom they know only as James but the law enforcement community knows as the serial killer dubbed "The Hunter," in exchange for shorter prison terms for their own crimes.

As for the two people left standing there, facing each other in the clearing, Bella never learns how close she came to an unspeakable end, while Edward never forgets how close he came to losing her, and losing her so horribly. He's so overcome with lingering fear and overwhelming relief that he can't speak at first, so summons her to him with just an outstretched hand and curling fingers.

Bella, of course, is herself overwhelmed by first the strange encounter with the scary men, and now Edward's sudden appearance that both relieves and frightens her—not that she's frightened of him, but of what his presence means for her, and of the deep sense of inadequacy that makes her certain she will end up feeling humiliated by Edward Cullen and not loved—so that she cannot walk, and rather thinks she might need to sit down right where she is standing.

Finally, they both move, Bella dropping down as Edward runs forward and catches her up into his arms as she falls.

Caught in Edward's embrace, Bella doesn't fight his hold, but circles her shaking arms around his neck and buries her face against his chest. And then, safe at last, she starts to cry.

He holds her tightly against him, his own cheek pressed into the dear brown hair on top of the sweet naïve head of the girl that had so nearly been taken from him forever.

"Jesus, Isabella; you scared me," he finally manages to say as she sobs on.

She responds, "I'm—so—sorry!" in between huge sobs, and the spell of fear on Edward is broken as he laughs and pulls her in even more tightly against him.

"Silly girl; you have nothing to apologize for," he gently chastises, then pushes in to kiss her on a wet cheek before pulling her back against him with a large hand splayed across her head, covering, and protecting, as much of her as he can.

Ignoring for the moment Bella's muffled and stuttering, "But-but-but"'s, Edward turns and looks up as he first hears, then sees a uniformed police officer approaching them on the trail from the direction they both had come.

"Everything alright here?" the officer enquires, drawing closer.

Bella startles at the sound of a new voice, and her sobs quiet as she sniffles and brings a hand up to try to wipe the tears and snot away.

Edward intercepts her hand, tucking it between Bella's body and his own, and reaches for the handkerchief he had wisely made sure was stowed in his pocket when dressing that morning for just such a comforting purpose as this (though he hadn't expected such a dramatic context for the comforting). He wipes her face gently, tenderly, looking down a couple times as he does so (though she doesn't see this as she's studying his shirt at close quarters while trying not to start crying again) and kissing her on the nose when he's done, all while he's carrying on a conversation with the officer.

"Yes, all five ran down that trail," Edward confirms, tipping his head to indicate the trail behind them. "I assume they've been apprehended?" he follows up.

The officer is next to them now, eyeballing Isabella in a proprietorial way that makes Edward grit his teeth against the protective-possessive rage flaring inside him.

Finally the officer answers, "Yeah, you made quite a score there. Roughly 15 unexecuted warrants among the 5, though most belong to one of 'em."

Then, satisfied that the girl seemed to be willingly in the arms of the rich asshole (for he shares the psychopath's resentment of Edward's existence on the planet), the officer looks up, meets the cold green eyes staring back at him, and adds, "Lucky save there, if you don't mind my sayin'," with a head nod toward the girl.

A curt head nod back is what he gets for his pleasantry, and the officer is only too glad to finish up as the EMT crew arrives with, "We'll get her statement at the hospital then, and yours too if you're going with her."

And taking Edward's second curt nod as the only assurance he needs, for he's got rich asshole's name and number courtesy of the bodyguard who sent on the photos, he turns his back on Edward and Bella to give orders to one of the EMT's.

The other medic, the one carrying a backboard, approaches Edward immediately and asks to examine his girl. "May I see her, please," the no-nonsense, heavy-set female says as she pulls on exam gloves—and she's not really asking.

Taking his time, Edward leans down and says in Isabella's ear, "Sweetheart, there's someone here who wants to look you over and make sure you're okay. Those men didn't touch you, did they baby?" he double-checks, reasonably certain of the answer but needing the reassurance of her response anyway.

Feeling better than he has all morning, Edward relays the information conveyed in the shy shake of Isabella's head against his chest as he tells the medic, "They didn't touch her."

"That's good," the medic says curtly, while Edward carefully lowers Bella's feet to the ground, helps her stand and oh-so-gently turns her around by the arms to face the EMT.

As Edward pulls Isabella back against his chest, wrapping both arms around her waist and placing each of his hands on one of her hips, the medic asks Isabella, "What's your name, sweetheart?", unintentionally echoing Edward in the term of endearment but employing it much more matter-of-factly as she starts her physical assessment with an observation of pupil size and respiration.

With a little coaching and a lot of encouragement from Edward, Bella manages to say her name and answer the medic's other questions, albeit haltingly and very, very quietly.

Satisfied enough with the results of the initial assessment, the two EMT's prep the backboard to transport Bella (for she's clearly in shock) out of the clearing. Edward stops them, saying, "Don't bother; I'll be carrying her. Shall we?"

The EMT's look at each other and shrug. Then the woman says, "I guess that's alright," releasing her side of the backboard and moving behind to follow Edward out of the clearing, Bella cradled in his arms, the other EMT leading the way.

There's a pause in their procession at the spot with benches where Edward's ally, having finished the pretzel and smoothie, claps her hands in pleasure at the gallant knight returning with the beautiful maiden in his arms, the maiden's innocence seemingly intact. "You found her!" the woman crows, and Edward bestows upon her a very grateful grin.

"Thanks to you," he gallantly tips his head and says, walking over to make introductions.

"Isabella, this is…" and Edward pauses, waiting for the lady to supply her name, something she can't do yet…though it eventually comes back to her after a few weeks in her new, well-nourished life in the apartment Edward pays for, with the medical care he provides for her too. After it becomes clear she isn't going to tell him her name, he finishes with, "the lady who helped me find you."

After taking a moment to pull Isabella closer and kiss her on the cheek at the memory of how close he came to not finding her in time, Edward then makes introductions the other way. "This is Isabella Swan, and I am Edward Cullen, and we are both indebted to you for your help. Can we find you here later? I need to take her to the hospital now."

"Oh yes, I'm always here, unless I'm over towards the zoo, or it's a cold day and I visit the station. I keep my eyes out for runaways, I do. They never seem to realize it's usually much better to face what you know, then run away into what you don't."

Edward smiles at the hard-earned wisdom so freely shared, and nods his head in agreement. "Then I'll be seeing you again. Thank you!" and leaning down says quietly to Isabella, "Go ahead and wave good-bye, Sweetheart," and she does, adding a shy "It was very nice to meet you," to boot, making the park-bench guardian beam.

And so all is much better than it ever has been before for all three of them, Edward, Bella, and Amelia May, though Bella can't quite feel the whole truth of that yet.

XxXxXx

I've got what happens next in my brain, and will try to write it down, in all its potentially-tedious specificity, sometime soon.

For as ridiculous as some people may find my fanfic plot lines, for me the writing is like a scientific analysis of precisely what MUST happen given the combination of a dominant, loyally-loving-affectionate, moral and intelligent (let's not forget powerfully rich to eliminate the stressors and barriers of normal life) Edward; a high-feeling, relational, intelligent, loyally-loving-affectionate (and of course beautiful to eliminate the stressors and barriers of a relationship that defies animal-social standards of romantic pairing) Bella; and whatever particular beginning situation we place those impossibly-perfect-for-each-other characters in.

I'm not sure my stories even qualify as "writing" in the fiction sense; they're more like "emotional observation" as well as some serious wish fulfillment…though I'm long past the point where I could even pretend that such an outcome is possible for me, nor do I, sometimes, even want it, preferring (gasp!) the hard-fought lovingness of my real life, and the very-much-not-perfect (especially me) real people in it. But I do miss the part of me that used to want Bella's happy ending, to desperately long for it even, because of the naïve hope of happiness that longing represented and is, for better or for worse, part of me no more.

Apparently though I still have some other stubborn muse inside me, because I regularly churn out more of the same story I've always written-just in slightly different clothes. I offer you one of those recent outpourings below with the hope that it brings you a moment of pleasure in the midst of the trials of your own life. And if it can't do that, then just take my internet-mediated affection and very best wishes for a happy spring.

Yours as always, with much affectionate mushiness,

liza

XxXxXx

In a convenience store on a concourse of the Chicago-O'Hare Airport…

Bella's crouching in front of the book display; her eyes caught by a couple classic novels for kids (very girly kids) displayed down there. She's on her way to her third year of college at a school she doesn't really like to please her mother. She's trying to study to be a doctor, to please her father, only she has a sneaking suspicion she's not going to make it past organic chemistry this semester and she doesn't have any idea what her back-up plans should be and she's scared. And stressed. And completely overwhelmed (thus the appeal of the well-loved children's books).

Edward doesn't see Bella; he's in a foul mood from the break-up conversation he just had with his gorgeous French model girlfriend, who'd been in Chicago for work. He dumped her. He doesn't really know why, only that he's bored again. She hadn't been bored, but had grown complacent—his superb manners and natural generosity making her feel she must be his "one," or at least his first in the marriage department. Therefore she did not take kindly to being gently told "this isn't working for me," as Edward had tried to do, and turned the break-up into an ugly shouting match, at least on her part, before finally Edward just turned his back and left, mobile items hitting the walls around him as he did so. Quickly.

Bella senses someone approaching behind her and rises quickly from her position, embarrassed to be found looking at juvenile reading material, turning as she stands. Edward, holding a coffee in front of him that he's disgustedly decided to pitch for already being lukewarm shortly after purchase, is striding towards the magazine/newspaper display above her head, reaching out with his non-coffee holding hand and only noticing the small body now directly in his path as it rises suddenly and pivots—directly into him.

The first impact is Bella's arm with Edward's coffee-cup, sending the tepid liquid sloshing up through the drinking slot and spraying the front of his shirt and his tie, just above his pants.

Bella sees this and is horrified, her breathing ramping up and her muscles tensing in panic, and Edward is shocked at the sudden appearance of this small person in his personal space. He can't interrupt the next step he takes in time, and so he almost runs said small person over, but reaches his newspaper-grabbing hand out instead and clasps the back of her to keep her from falling over.

So there they are, frozen, like dancers in a photo shot, Edward with his weight on one foot dipping rigid Bella back, their eyes meeting for an endless moment…

His body registers hers at a purely animal level—the short, fearful breaths, the tense muscles, the smallness of stature paired with the relative maturity yet innocent beauty of her face and forward features. And his body is pleased.

So it's Bella who moves first, recovering from the intensity of those glittering green eyes boring into her own and throwing herself forward and to the side, removing herself from Edward's unintentional embrace and accidentally jostling, again, his coffee-holding arm.

Edward's fast enough this time that the coffee that escapes merely lands on the carpet or drips on his hand, but he punctuates it with a "Shit," and Bella's face flames.

Stuttering, she's so embarrassed and panicked, she manages a squeaky, "I'm so sorry; I'm so sorry!" as she reaches out with the end of her own shirt wrapped around her fist and starts to rub at the coffee stains on Edward's front.

Edward stares down at the girl, hard at work just above his crotch, incredulously, then starts to feel an unaccustomed humor flood his system—along with other feelings he's less sure of being appropriate. Partly in an attempt to cover those, he starts to laugh, his eyes crinkling up with a friendliness and warmth most strangers and even most acquaintances in his life never see.

Bella doesn't see it either, at least not right away. She feels the stranger's abdomen moving as she hears the laughter, and all of a sudden she realizes that perhaps rubbing furiously against an unknown man's stomach is not the most appropriate thing to be doing.

Awash in more shame and humiliation than even she is used to feeling, she abruptly stops and wraps her arms around her, her head dropping, her eyes welling with tears.

Edward watches this, and stops laughing immediately. Feeling a concern he would not have believed possible for an almost-perfect stranger, he crouches, carefully sets the coffee cup down on the floor behind him, and looks up into her face.

Seeing tears, he says, "Hey, you okay?"

Grimacing at what has come out of his mouth, he tries again, as the girl's shoulders start to move up and down with audible sobs. "Are you hurt?"

Surprised by this man's kindness after she's knocked into him (for in her mind she's taking all the blame for the situation, as usual, it never occurring to her that perhaps the accident was the result of Edward not noticing her) and spilled coffee all over what is, she can't help but notice out of the corners of her downcast eyes, a very expensive looking outfit, Bella can only shake her head in response, her lips tightly sealed against the louder cries threatening to come out.

Edward watches the surreptitious examination of his person and the shyly-vehement head shake, and sees the signs of a valiant effort being waged against the expression of emotion—though he's not sure how he can be so sure the girl is trying not to cry, as most of the women he knows or has known in the past have had no hesitation whatsoever in expressing what they feel when they feel it.

Smiling again, with gentleness and no laughter this time, he reaches a hand up towards hers and says, "Are you sure you're all right?"

Another sob breaks out at the kindness of this question, and Bella nods her head up and down emphatically, but Edward just shakes his own and observes, with a quiet sort of almost-censure, "You don't look alright to me."

This challenge of sorts surprises Bella enough into raising her head and looking at him. Who is this man who actually seems to care that she's having a meltdown? Even people she's known for years avoid her when she's like this, and here's a complete stranger, an incredibly good-looking (she realizes as she actually looks at his face for the first time) and well-dressed man acting like he wants to know the truth about how awful she feels at this moment.

Shocked, she stops crying, and Edward smiles, rewarding her with a nod and a "That's better, then."

Feeling a little disappointed at realizing their interaction is probably at an end, Edward reaches for the culprit coffee cup and stands, preparing to say good-bye and chastising himself for the ridiculousness of how lonely that thought makes him feel.

But before he gets the chance to wish her a good day, Bella gets an eyeful of the brown stain on his crisp white shirt and the spatters on his sharp blue tie, and her face drops in renewed horror. "I'm so sorry!" she gasps out, her hand reaching out towards the stains as if she might try to blot them again, then pulling in to her body like she's been bitten.

"What, this?" Edward asks, looking down at his outfit a little ruefully, but nowhere near as upset as her. "Don't worry; it's nothing," he assures her, though of course it isn't nothing but the likely end of the several-hundred-dollar custom-made shirt and equally-expensive designer tie. Although that is nothing to him financially, so it isn't really a lie.

Bella, however, is disbelieving, and, still feeling wholly responsible for the accident, rushes to say, "I'll, I'll pay for the dry cleaning!" her eyes flicking once more to his with an earnest apology in her whole bearing that somehow hurts his heart.

Edward looks at the modest quality of the clothes the girl is wearing, the old backpack slung over her shoulder and the worn shoes on her feet, and he makes a decision. He's going to see her safely to where she's going, or to whomever she's travelling with.

For Edward is horrified at how vulnerable she's making herself to him, though it also warms him somehow inside (unlike the tepid coffee), and he's determined that she will not be left alone to offer to pay other strangers' dry-cleaning bills for accidents they've caused. To him, it's as automatic and obvious as not leaving a toddler wandering a city street alone.

And so he ignores her offer and asks a question instead. "May I walk you to your gate?"

"My gate?" the girl repeats, confused and surprised by the change in topic.

Edward smiles, his heart warming to unprecedentedly high temperatures at the naïve innocence of this person's bearing. A child, he says to himself, though he wouldn't have thought it at first. She must be younger than she looks, a young teenager perhaps, travelling alone for the first time.

Aren't they supposed to be under the supervision of flight crew if that's the case? he thinks, ready to berate some slacker steward or stewardess for their contemptible dereliction of duty.

Aloud he affirms, "Your gate." Then he thinks of something, realizing that before they collided the girl must have been crouching to examine the bottom shelf, and in his usual business-like manner says, "After we get what you were in here for."

Looking down at the bottom shelf contents himself, he realizes she must indeed be much younger than he thought she was at first, and is relieved he did nothing to give away his body's initial reaction to her—as well as more than a little disturbed at how wrong his animal intuition could have been in this encounter. Covering for this, he dials up his bossiness, sure now the little girl in front of him needs it.

"Which book is it?" he asks, matter-of-factly, as he leans in to the display and surveys the juvenile titles.

"Um, no, I, I was just looking," Bella stutters in mortification, her hands wringing a strap on her backpack as she contemplates just running away from the humiliation of this whole situation. But something in her won't let her voluntarily leave the presence of the surprising man in front of her, this obviously-powerful, absolutely-terrifying and oh-so-kind man in front of her.

Edward looks back at her, surprised anew at her reticence, for most young ladies he's been accustomed to always find something to buy when he's the one buying. She catches his incredulous gaze, and makes her usual assumption of inadequacy and error on her own part, realizing with horror that she hadn't thanked him for his help and assuming he's surprised by her own bad manners.

Rushing to erroneously fix things, Bella spills out words rather than coffee. "Oh! I'm so sorry! I didn't say thank you! For your help before, I mean! And—and—for not being mad at me for spilling coffee on you! I'm so sorry about that! I really will pay for the dry-cleaning!"

Stopping abruptly at her realization that she's offered again to do something she can't actually afford or manage, Bella's face flames red and her eyes drop to the ground and once more, she starts to cry.

Seeing he's back at square one with his newfound charge, and both elated and frustrated by the difficulty of accomplishing anything matter-of-fact with her, Edward turns easily with a sigh and—to his own and Bella's utter shock—wraps an arm around the girl's waist before he knows what he's doing.

When he realizes he's inserted himself into her personal space again, with no accident to blame it on (I've accosted her, really, he chastises himself), he freezes, looking for a way to play off his action as only a helping gesture before he distances himself from this perplexing creature and stays far away.

But in the split-second before he can act on his plan to distance himself, Bella changes it—changes them—forever by, without her own awareness or conscious thought beforehand, stepping closer into his embrace.

Smiling in spite of himself, Edward looks down at the brown head willingly closer to him now, and—despite his rational mind screaming epithets at himself in case the delinquent chaperone(s) he's assuming must exist should finally make an appearance and find him embracing their minor charge—tightens his hold slightly around the girl's waist.

The girl responds by shuffling a little closer to him again, and finally he says an inner "Fuck it" and, setting the coffee cup down for the last time on the newspaper display, pulls her against his chest while his other arm reaches around her back and gently draws her head against him.

Bella feels as if she might explode or wet her pants or both, and squeaks a little as she wraps her own arms around the stranger's muscular waist, tucking her head against his hard chest. She's shocked at her own forwardness, and a half-second later starts to un-do it, but is stopped by Edward pressing her even closer to him, and leaning down to whisper, "Good girl," in her ear.

That's the end of rational thought for quite some time for Bella. She is now reduced to such a state of shock and animal dependency that she would have, without question, done anything that man asked her to do. Absolutely anything.

Edward senses her utter capitulation, and feels a high no drug or interaction, not even his best business deals, has ever before given him. Instantly hooked, he's now calculating how to wrest control of the girl from whatever inadequate protector is ostensibly in charge.

Thinking he might visit the security office to report her wandering and then offer to chaperone, with whatever bribe might be necessary to effect the transfer of right to her for the time being, Edward leans in towards the head nestled against him and asks, "Who's supposed to be watching you right now, little one?"

Freezing once more, trying to make sense of the nonsensical thing her savior is asking her, Bella stutters her response. "What—what do you mean?"

Releasing her head and waist in order to crouch down again and look up into her transparent face, Edward slides his hands down her arms and catches her little hands in his long fingers. "Who's supposed to be watching you in the airport, sweetheart? Is it a stewardess, or do you have a friend or family member around?"

Somehow, Edward hadn't considered the latter possibility until he spoke it aloud, for the girl seemed so utterly alone. Still, he realizes now it's the most likely scenario, that somewhere in one of the waiting spaces all around them is an ungrateful and shockingly reckless human being responsible for letting this small person wander.

Feeling simultaneously bereft and outraged, Edward starts to let go of Bella's hands as her eyes open wide in the terror of her mistaken realization of why this wonderful stranger is being so kind to her.

Edward sees the terror, and instantly tightens his hands again around Bella's now cold and clammy fingers. "What's wrong, little girl?" he asks urgently.

Bella's eyes go even wider, and she shakes her head vehemently while trying to pull her hands away. "I'm-I'm not little!" she says, ashamed and oh-so-angry at herself for believing for even one moment that this man could have meant to be kind to her, 20-year-old Bella Swan. He thinks I'm a kid! she moans to herself inside, and she pulls harder at his grasp.

Perplexed at her response, Edward draws his brows together as he says conciliatorily while his hands continue to hold hers tightly, "Okay, so you're a big girl. You still need someone—"

"No! I'm not a girl at all! I'm…I'm a grown-up!" Bella manages, blushing harder than ever at the last phrase that comes out, wishing she'd said "an adult" instead. But at least it makes the point; at least now this man has the information he needs to let go of her, and turn away in disgust, and leave her to pick up her own pieces and go on, pretending that she's normal; pretending that she's fine.

She isn't able to look Edward in the face any more, just biding her time until he walks away from her forever, so she doesn't see the worry drain out of his face and the huge grin that rises as her words sink in. Feeling the need to clarify his good fortune before his happiness gets too far out of control, Edward says calmly, "How old are you exactly, then?"

His words hit like weapons, each one cutting deeper. She clears her throat, trying to find her voice as she wishes herself a million miles away. When she finally speaks, it's so quiet he has to lean in to hear her, but he does. She whispers, "I'm…I'm twenty."

There's a horrible silence for Bella, and a rejoicing one for Edward. Twenty! She's twenty! She's mine!

Realizing there may still be a family member to deal with, Edward takes a steadying breath and plunges forward in his hopeful plan. "And who are you travelling with, my twenty-year-old?"

At the word "my," Bella's head snaps up, her eyes as wide as they've ever been. Is he making fun of her? Or is he…could he be…there's no way that he might be…serious?

Edward sees both her incredulity and her hope, and he rewards the hope with the warmest smile he can conjure on his face and in his eyes. Lifting his eyebrows, he prods her for an answer with some suggestions of his own. "Are you with your mom? Your dad? Grandparents? Aunt or uncle?"

After each family member he pauses, dreading her confirmation and getting instead a little shake of her head. His grin grows, but there are still others who might interfere. "Siblings? Friends? A school group?"

After the final shake of Bella's head, Edward feels brave enough to ask the billion-dollar question (million doesn't cover it, as he has millions—hundreds of millions, actually, with his company worth more—but he does not have her): "Are you alone, sweetheart?"

A bit lip, a tear running down her cheek, and a head nod with downcast eyes answers his question in glorious completeness, and he celebrates by quickly standing and pulling her in for another hug, this one much less hesitant. Smiling hugely at the blessed coffee cup he spies still sitting on the shelf holding the papers he now has no interest in, Edward wraps a commanding arm around the girl's waist once more and wends one hand through her thick brown hair and around her slender neck, cupping the back of the precious head that he pulls snugly against himself with a sense of rightness, of possession, of completion.

He feels the quiet sobs start and he does not shush them, but rocks her slightly back and forth while his thumb strokes down against her cheek, catching some moisture as it falls and moving it around as if to say, I see your pain, and I am not afraid.I am not afraid.You can cry all you like, and I will hold you 'til you're done.

Which is exactly what she does, and he does—at least until they're interrupted by a heedless businessman after the same paper Edward had reached for not ten minutes before. "Excuse me," he says, perfunctorily, not even noticing the embrace before him or choosing to ignore it, either one.

Though he takes his time, Edward does move in response to the businessman, realizing he is grateful for the reminder of the outside world, and the need to take steps to make this fleeting airport encounter something tangible and lasting.

Releasing the now quiet 20-year-old! in his arms, Edward moves her slightly out of the way of the magazine stand and bends his knees slightly as one hand goes up to catch the side of her lovely face, the other hand settling against her waist to hold her there. "What's your name, beautiful girl?" he asks, and grins as the answering blush spreads across her face and her eyes avoid his.

When she avoids answering him right away, Edward teases her, asking, "Am I going to have to guess this too?"

She smiles at the kindness in the question, the gentleness of his teasing of her, and she shakes her head "No." Then she risks lifting her eyes to his, for just a moment, a wonderful, magical moment, and as her eyes fall to safety once more she finds her voice for long enough to say, "Bella. My name is Bella."

"Bella," Edward repeats, savoring the word on his tongue. "Bella. That is perfect," he says, speaking to himself.

Then, addressing her again, he asks, "And where are you meant to be headed today, sweet Bella?"

Bella misses the promise in his question, the potentially ominous assertion in his words if she were one to value her autonomy, and doesn't understand yet that her life is no longer what it was before she spilled coffee on this miraculous man in front of her. "I'm going back to school," she says, more easily than she can believe given how much she doesn't want to be doing just that.

"And where do you go to school?" Edward asks, wondering if she will continue there or not; wondering if he will let her.

"Smith College, in Massachusetts," Bella answers, not wondering once if it is wise for her to tell a stranger this fact.

Edward shakes his head at her trustingness, and smiles at her clarification of Smith's location. Teasing her a little more, he tells her, "I know where Smith College is, little one."

"You do?" Bella asks, surprised by everything about this marvelous person before her.

"I have a sister who went there, a little while ago. She's about your size, and your coloring too, except for your beautiful brown eyes, but otherwise your complete opposite."

Bella, blushing fiercely at this handsome man's characterization of any part of her as "beautiful," doesn't know what to say to this, so only manages "Oh." But then she tries to be polite, and show him some of the kind consideration he has shown her, so she adds, "Did she like it?"

Edward purses his lips in mock consideration of her question, buying time as he pulls out his phone with the hand not on the girl's waist and brings up his first-class boarding pass and the latest information about the flight's times.

Checking the old-fashioned Rolex on his wrist (it had been his grandfather's), Edward realizes he needs to get moving to avoid the inconvenience of missing his flight and having to wait for another. He wishes now he had chartered a plane for this journey, but at the time it had seemed easier just to fly commercial.

Looking back to the girl still waiting patiently for an answer to her polite inquiry, Edward says, "Not very much, truth be told. What about you? Are you very happy there?"

Holding his breath as he waits for an answer, Edward realizes he has it already in the time it takes Bella to respond; in the renewed blush on her cheeks, and the twist of an anxious foot; in the apologetic tone of her voice when she whispers, with a tiny shake of her head, "I don't like it very much either."

The hope in her face raised to his own after she ventures this bit of honesty, this test of him to see if he will condemn her or support her in not feeling at home in a place supposed to be an honor and a privilege to attend, it is the last little nourishment his psyche needs to be certain of her place in his heart and in his home, and to take charge of both her and the situation now.

With a brisk nod, he rewards her small soul-baring with an emphatic, "I am very glad to hear that, little one." He lets that sit for a moment or two, watches as Bella—his Bella—flushes with pleasure at his approbation, and then continues as he puts his phone away and grabs her hand closest to him, "And now we need to move, sweet Bella, before the plane takes off without us."

Having pulled her tripping in to his side, Edward turns briefly and grabs the two most likely-looking books off the bottom rack, then watches Bella's surprised and pleased and highly embarrassed reaction as he marches her to the check-out desk to pay for them. Adding two waters and a pack of gum with a busy left hand, his right never letting go of Bella until he switches her to his left-hand side to retrieve his phone and pay, Edward stashes the bag with his purchases in his shoulder-slung carry-on and then grabs her backpack as well, ignoring her weak protest as he adds her bag onto his shoulder.

"I can carry that. I don't want to bother—"

He cuts her off, matter-of-fact. "It's no bother, Bella. Now let's go."

And he's both horrified and elated at how happily she trips out of the store after him, following him wherever he chooses to lead her, shaking his head at her unquestioning willingness to trust him at the same time that he's grinning at his unbelievably good fortune in finding her so.

He doesn't speak as he guides her through the throngs to the gate for his flight to Boston—and, as it happens, her flight as well. "Oh! Are you going to Boston too?" Bella asks, surprised to see where they've ended up and wondering at her own good fortune in going the same direction as this unbelievably wonderful person holding her hand.

Edward doesn't bother replying right away, focused instead on queueing up at the gate's busy counter in order to effect the change of seats he has in mind. Once in line, he pulls Bella to stand in front of him and lets go of her hand in order to deal with her backpack, which he starts unzipping to check for her boarding pass and ID.

Bella watches him rifle through her bag, her face showing her confusion, and finally asks, no anger in her tone at all but great curiosity, "What are you looking for?"

He grins at her, moving them both forward as the line progresses, leaving only one elderly woman with a question about her carry-on ahead of them. "Your boarding pass," he answers as he triumphantly pulls the document out, "and your ID," he adds as he fishes her wallet out as well.

Seeing Bella's blush start up again, Edward extends the wallet towards her and offers, "Would you like to get your ID out for me?"

He is simultaneously incredulous and ecstatic at how she wordlessly takes the wallet from him and obediently removes her ID, then hands both the card and the wallet back over to him as if he has every right in the world to take control of her this way.

He doesn't have time to say anything more than, "Thank you, sweetheart," (he's noticed the strong effect such terms of affection have on her, and is doing what he can to keep her securely in his thrall), before the gate attendant is briskly asking him, her eyes on her computer screen, "How can I help you?"

"Well, Linda," Edward begins with a quick perusal of the attendant's personnel badge, "my girlfriend here needs a change of seats for the flight. I'll pay whatever necessary for her to be given the seat next to me that I've reserved already."

Edward always reserves two seats when flying commercial to spare himself the intrusion of an unwanted neighbor. If he were in coach, the airline might override him when the flight was full, but as he's a high-status first-class customer paying full price for both seats, the airline leaves him be.

The attendant notices this as she pulls up his account, and warms her tone considerably in response to his VIP status. "That shouldn't be a problem, Mr. Cullen," she purrs, reaching for Bella's ticket and ID and entering that information as well.

Except it is a problem, for Bella's ticket was purchased in an on-line deal, part of which precluded paying for any upgrades. So she needs a brand-new ticket in first-class, but all the seats are ticketed already, and Mr. Cullen's own two seats are both non-refundable, having just been purchased that morning. So the attendant cannot, according to the airline's strict rules, change one of the seats from his name to Bella's, and of course she can't issue a boarding pass to the girl for a seat not in her name.

Realizing she's about to make a rich person angry, the attendant puts up her "not-my-problem, rules-are-rules" armor and starts in on her perfunctorily-apologizing-but-not-really speech.

Edward's eyebrows are starting to rise, and he's bracing himself for the process of going up the authority chain until he gets the outcome he wants, when he hears his name called from behind him.

Looking back over his shoulder, Edward sees an old family friend and business partner approaching, a wide smile on his face. "Edward, how are you?" Aro Volturi asks.

Edward returns the warm smile, reaching out to shake hands, but also steps closer to the girl in front of him. There's something about Aro that has never been quite trustworthy, especially where women are concerned. "I'm well, Aro, and yourself?" Edward responds.

"Never better, my young friend, never better." Sizing up the situation quickly and with a preternatural ability to read people, as he always does, Aro notes the tension between Edward and the girl in front of him and winks suggestively. "Trying to bring home a lady friend, Edward?"

Edward's back stiffens at the suggestiveness, but he sees a potential ally in resolving his current problem and makes the best of it. "As a matter of fact, I am, Aro, but the airline is balking at switching her ticket to one of my first-class seats. Any chance you can help?"

This is not a stab in the dark; Aro is a board member of the airline and Edward knows it, being a significant stockholder himself.

"Absolutely, my dear boy, absolutely. But perhaps first you'll introduce me?" and Aro transfers his leering gaze to the cowering Bella, not that she can see that as she's studying the carpet very intently at the moment.

Edward resents Aro's presumption, but complies out of politeness and the stronger desire to have his new-found girl home with him as soon as possible. "Of course, Aro."

Then turning back to Bella and putting a protective/possessive hand on her shoulder, he says, "Bella, this is Aro Volturi, an old friend. Aro, this is Isabella Swan" (Edward has already memorized the front of Bella's Washington-state driver's license).

Aro approaches closer, reaching out his hand past Edward's protective stance and waiting for Bella to shyly put her hand in his, her eyes reaching to the newcomer's chin as she manages to say quietly, "It's very nice to meet you."

Edward's heart fills with pride and affection at his girl's bravery and manners, and he can't help but lean in and kiss her lightly on top of her head, whispering a "Good girl" as he pulls back.

Aro's soaking it all up, relishing the evidence of the cool Edward Cullen having finally developed a vulnerability worth exploiting, and enjoying reading the extent of that vulnerability in the unbelievably open innocence of the girl in question. A girl, Aro realizes, he would particularly enjoy having for himself after stealing her away from Edward by any means necessary.

Aro is rich and powerful enough he can't help but ask for what he wants outright as he shakes the girl's hand for longer than is really appropriate. "The pleasure is all mine, sweet Isabella. I don't suppose I could talk you into letting her keep an old man company, Edward?"

Edward moves to physically block Bella from Aro's view, making Aro inwardly chuckle while he starts plotting how to get a hold on this person that the notoriously-independent Edward Cullen feels so protective of. "No, Aro, I'm afraid no one could do that. But do you suppose you could talk the staff into issuing a first-class boarding pass for Isabella?"

Having finally dropped Bella's hand with a wink in response to Edward nearly pulling it out of his grasp, Aro turns back to Edward and magnanimously consents to intervene with the confidence born of a life of extreme wealth and privilege, unbalanced by the ethics and moral sense Edward is constrained by.

Moving to the desk, Aro speaks to the nervous gate attendant. "My friend here needs a boarding pass for his lady friend. You may assign any charges to my account," and Aro produces his own airline identity card and security pass, made at his behest as a board member for just this sort of purpose, and not because he ever plans on doing any actual work for the airline within the confines of the airport.

The gate attendant sees that following rules is now a hopeless endeavor, and pushes the buttons she needs to push in order to spit out a boarding pass with the girl's name on it and one of the first-class seats previously assigned to Edward Cullen. She can't help but resent the little b #$%, feeling the unfairness of a world that would assign such a nondescript, mousy little thing to first class and her own self to the servants attending them.

The resentment makes her smile tight as she hands over the boarding pass with completely false wishes for a good flight, but Bella is beyond noticing anything other than the warm, strong hand holding her own, and Edward no longer cares about anything other than holding on to the girl next to him.

Taking the offered boarding pass, Edward turns back to thank Aro, who responds, "Not at all, my dear boy, not at all. But I will look forward to having you and the lovely Isabella over sometime soon," and Edward is of course forced to agree.

Their back-and-forth is cut short by the boarding announcement for first class, and Aro returns to his valet in order to issue marching orders while Edward moves quickly towards the boarding line with Bella.

Bella isn't really processing what Edward is doing, but she hears a repeat of the first-class boarding announcement as Edward tows her towards the gate attendant checking boarding passes, and so she resists his pull on her for the first time.

Feeling her balk, Edward turns towards her and asks, "Is something wrong, Isabella?" He's instinctively started using her full name as another means of keeping her off-balance and under his control.

It works. Bella blinks up at him, confused, and unable to do more than shake her head "No," so he smiles indulgently and resumes pulling her the few remaining feet to the attendant.

Then Bella's head clears and her eyes widen and she balks again, more strongly this time, making Edward stop once more. "Sweetheart, what's wrong?" he asks, not exasperated exactly but with a tone of voice that sends the message that he wants whatever is bothering her out in the open so that it can be dealt with, now.

Bella swallows nervously, then stutters. "Um, Mr., um, Edward?" she asks hesitantly, having only remembered his first name.

Edward grins, and says, "Just Edward, honey. What is it?"

Bella blushes violently at the "honey," and blurts out, "I'm not in first-class; I can't board now."

Edward tilts his head questioningly at her, looking for a sign that she's teasing him or playing at something, and sees nothing other than a growing blush with tears starting once more, and her teeth worrying her bottom lip.

He deals with the last item first. "Stop that," he chides gently, as his thumb tenderly presses against her bottom lip, removing it from under her teeth, the rest of his fingers curled up under her jaw as he does so.

This masterful management of her body has a lightning-strike impact on both of them, making Bella inhale loudly and shoot wide eyes up towards his face as Edward groans inwardly, flaring his nostrils and flexing his other hand as he tries to re-direct the shockingly strong urge to press Bella against his own body.

Aro breaks the moment as he bustles by, long-suffering valet in tow, greeting them as he goes. "Aha, I'm beating you onto the plane, children! See you on board!" he crows as he moves by them.

Edward turns to smile and nod at Aro, relieved if also somewhat annoyed by the interruption, and then turns back to an even-redder Bella studying the industrial carpeting like her life now depends on it.

He takes a moment to consider whether to explain to her that he has had her re-ticketed to sit next to him, decides against it, and resorts back to brute force. "Trust me, Sweetheart," he says in his most authoritative voice, and gripping Bella firmly around the elbow, he finishes dragging her the remaining little bit to the attendant watching the pair with no small amount of curiosity and, as far as Bella is concerned, even more jealousy.

Handing over both their ID's, Bella's paper boarding pass and his phone with his own boarding pass pulled up, Edward waits aggressively, his challenging eyes on the attendant as she goes about her business, then nods as she hands everything back with her almost-sincere wishes for a good flight.

Quickly, Edward pockets it all, Bella's ID included, then resumes pulling her down the ramp to board the plane.

Bella is struggling less now, having expected to be lectured by the gate agent and shocked to still be proceeding onto the plane. She trips along wordlessly behind Edward, and doesn't hesitate again until they're on the plane, and he tries to wave her into the window seat of their row.

Bella looks at the seat he's indicating, the large, overstuffed leather seat in only the second row of the plane, and finally puts her foot down. "I can't sit here, Edward," she says, enunciating clearly like she's speaking to a 3-year-old. "My ticket is in coach."

Edward ignores her for the moment, setting down his carry-on to pull the bag from the convenience store out before stashing both his bag and her backpack in the overhead compartment, careful to keep her only access down the aisle blocked with his body the whole time.

Bags stashed, he turns back to Bella, picks her up by both bent elbows and lifts her, still standing, into the space in front of her seat before sitting down in his own. "You're sitting here now," he says simply as he adjusts the seat slightly to his comfort, and pulls the two water bottles out of the bag, sticking one in each of their seat pockets.

Bella remains standing there, her mouth open, and then tries again. "But your girlfriend is going to sit here! I heard you tell the lady that at the gate!"

Edward looks up at her, a wicked grin on his face. "You are the girlfriend, sweetheart. Now sit down so I can buckle you in. I don't want all the poor bastards in coach sizing you up as they walk by." And as he says this, he stands, towering over her all the way up to the overhead compartment which makes him hunch his back and lower his head, his heavy-lidded knowing eyes weighing her down with his gaze like an iron chain.

She doesn't actually sit, however, until his hands go on her shoulders, applying the additional force necessary for her knees to buckle and for her to fall into the seat with an inelegant but greatly-satisfying-to-Edward plop.

Immediately, his hands move to the seat belt at either side of her hips. He deftly fastens the belt around her, tightening it so it is very secure; indeed, it is so tight it is almost uncomfortable, and has the instant effect of making Bella urgently aware of her need for a bathroom.

Trying to wriggle into a more comfortable position as Edward resumes his seat, Bella bites her lip then breathes out, "Um, Ed-Edward? I… I-need-to-go-to-the-bathroom."

Edward smiles indulgently at her. "I forgot to take care of that before we boarded, didn't I? Well, the first-class bathroom isn't too bad, usually. Let's go find out." And leaning over, he undoes the buckle he has just fastened, then pulls it slowly back over her lap, his thumb dragging across her abdomen the whole way—making Bella's wriggling ramp up so that everything below her waist is squirming.

Edward grins at the effect he is having, and takes a deep breath himself in place of his own squirming before grabbing one of Bella's hands and pulling her up, saying, "Up we go" as he does. He pauses, waiting for a gap in the coach-class traffic flow, then leads Bella to the front bathroom reserved for first-class passengers.

It is larger than the airplane bathrooms Bella is used to, which is good, because after pushing her inside while he holds the door open for her, Edward follows her in, locking the door behind them both.

Bella blushes so hot she feels her hair fan away from her face, and tears start rolling down her cheeks unchecked and uncontrolled. She tries to protest, manages an "Um," but is ignored by Edward who is prepping the seat for her, lifting the lid and wiping the seat clean of any germs, real or imagined.

When he straightens up, he moves around a stock-still Bella to stand just inside the door, his back turned to her with another indulgent smile spread wide across his face, saying, "Alright then, sweetheart, I'll wait like this until you're done. Go ahead."

Bella doesn't move at first, for she is horrified at the idea of using the bathroom with—this man—present to hear everything. She may not have ever moved, except Edward, enjoying himself immensely, says matter-of-factly with his face still turned towards the door, "Do you need help then, Isabella?"

He chuckles silently at how quickly she squeaks, "No, thank you," and then at the embarrassed hesitation with which he hears her zipper slide down and her jeans move down her legs.

She pauses before she sits, and he actually starts to turn this time as he says, "Well, clearly you do," stopping himself somewhat reluctantly but cheerfully still as he hears the thud of her landing on the seat.

There's another loaded silence, until Edward gallantly turns on the sink tap, saying, "This will help you get started then, Sweetheart," and finally Bella gives up and lets go, and Edward turns the tap off and listens to the evidence that she has capitulated to him again and will truly be his to manage and maneuver for as long as he desires.

And because he has a deeply loyal and abidingly affectionate heart, that will be for the rest of his life, a fact he is aware of already and will prove true to himself and to her in the many happy years to come.

But for the time being, Bella is far too embarrassed to be happy. She quickly finishes her business and stands, pulling up and re-fastening her jeans as she goes, and flinching as she flushes the toilet.

Turning back to standing she sees Edward behind her in the mirror, smiling at her with warm humor, knowing kindness, and—something else—in his eyes, and her belly fills anew making her feel for one intense moment like she has to pee all over again.

She starts to pant, and Edward, sensing her current discomfort and, unlike Bella herself, understanding the reason for it, reaches around her and places one of his hands spread wide against her round little belly. He lets her wiggle against the hand and against his hold for a few blissful moments before drawing her firmly in to the front of him for a painfully-intense few moments longer.

They stand there, one of Edward's hands against the sink edge and the other pressing Bella into him, for what feels like an eternity, and Edward struggles mightily with the strength of his desire to move against her, subduing it with his customary strength of will, albeit stretched much much thinner than usual.

Bella is frozen, like a cornered rabbit staring at a fox, hoping that she will blend into the scenery around her at the same time, it must be said, that some part of this particular rabbit is yearning to be consumed. Her eyes close, and she feels how the tiny little shallow breaths she's taking make her tummy slightly fall away from then gently press against again Edward's splayed fingers, and it is likely that if Edward hadn't found his self-control in time, Bella would have completely lost hers and pressed that same tummy, feeling so full of she-does-not-know-what, fully into the offered hand.

A moment before, however, Edward releases her and steps forward, pushing her into the sink with the odd, bumpy, hard part of his body behind her, and she feels some relief, and the return of some normalcy as he turns the taps on and presses the dispenser for some soap on her behalf.

The normalcy dissipates and is replaced with a new intensity of feeling, this time building in her heart not her belly, as Edward reaches for her hands and pulls them with one of his under the running water, then soaps them up together, both his hands moving around and between the fingers and palms of both of hers.

As he works, he says, "That's my girl, sweetheart," and for one moment, one breathless moment, she risks looking up into the mirror and sees him still smiling down at her—making her break into at least a thousand pieces.

Starting to cry, her head lowers and she sees her hands no more; only feels as he carefully finishes rinsing them, gently brushing a stray soap bubble off here and there, and turning her hands to one side and the other as he rinses them clean.

As her sobs build, growing noisier as tears roll freely down her face, Edward reaches for a towel and tenderly dries her hands.

Next he dries his own, then turns her at the shoulders and pulls Bella in for a rocking hug.

"Shhhhh, baby girl, you're okay," he says encouragingly as he runs a hand down her hair and her back, his other hand gripping her opposite hip firmly, his arm heavy around her waist.

She takes a couple deep, shuddering breaths, and he praises her, "Good girl, that's right."

Finally, she quiets, resting her head against his chest as if she's too tired to keep it upright anymore.

Edward takes a moment to open and soak one of the disposable wash cloths available in the first-class bathroom, wishing he were home already with real linens and other luxuries to use in tending to Isabella, in water as warm as he can get out of the frustratingly inadequate tap, and wrings it out well before lovingly wiping Bella's face clean of tears.

Lowering his head to speak into her ear when he's finished, Edward asks softly, "Are you too tired to walk, sweetheart? I can carry you."

Bella shakes her head quickly and vigorously at this, then stands up straight, reluctantly lifting that same head away from Edward's mesmerizing chest.

Edward laughs lightly. "Such an independent girl you are. I like that, even though I'm going to change it."

A shudder moves through Bella at his words, but she chooses not to think about them, pretending she's just herself still.

Edward smiles at her stubbornness, and opens the door with his hand moving behind him, then backs out of the bathroom and turns Bella around to the aisle, one hand on her hip and the other holding firmly to her opposite elbow.

They wait again, not as long now as most passengers have already boarded, for a break in the traffic, then quickly navigate the short distance to their seats. Bella doesn't balk at all this time as Edward maneuvers her into their row and then down into her seat, and feels the lingering warmth in her belly spread through her whole body as Edward re-fastens the seatbelt, standing in front of her and leaning over her, taking even longer than before and drawing the seatbelt even tighter.

Isabella can't help but wriggle once in response to the super-snug belt across her lap, and Edward feels his predatory instincts fire. Freezing himself lest he move too far too fast, Edward inhales once, twice, before slowly moving his right hand down to rest against Bella's left knee, then slowly—oh so slowly—sliding his hand up to the top of her thigh, his thumb dragging alongside up between her jeans-covered legs.

Bella freezes at this, the most intimate manner in which she's ever been touched, and squeaks when Edward's thumb comes to rest, for a breathless few seconds, right there.

Then, after pressing in ever so slightly, the thumb and the hand attached to it are off her body, and Edward leans down to press a chaste but lingering kiss against her lips before sitting back down beside her and fastening his own seatbelt.

There are no words for some time after, as both Edward and Bella bring their breathing back to normal and accept that there is nothing more that could possibly happen for now as they are on a plane about to back away from the runway and be airborne for over three hours, during which time they are confined both to their seats and to the public exposure of prying eyes. Bella is relieved and a little frustrated by this; Edward is frustrated and a little relieved.

As the flight crew preps for take-off, Edward wordlessly unwraps and holds out a piece of gum in front of Bella's mouth, his steady eyes heavy on her as she glances up. He nods towards the gum, she blushes, and, closing her eyes, opens her mouth and accepts the gum from his fingers as he feeds the piece between her lips. When it's all in, he rests his thumb on her closed lips a moment.

Bella is speechless for a time, chewing her gum and crying quiet, happy tears, but as the plane gains speed down the runway she manages to whisper, "Thank you."

Edward, who hasn't stopped watching her since feeding her the gum (and well before that), smiles more widely at his sweetheart's shy words. Moving quickly into Bella's personal space, he rubs his nose against hers, kisses her sweetly on the cheek, then sits back saying, "You're welcome, love."

Bella curls up in quiet contentment after that, watching the earth grow smaller beneath her and then the clouds go by as Edward occupies himself with happy mental planning of the changes he will make in his home and life to accommodate the girl sitting next to him.

When the first-class stewardess comes by to take meal and drink orders, Edward orders for them both, consulting Bella only on her choice of vegetable (peas and carrots) and whether she'd like ginger ale or fruit juice (she shyly asks for "Ginger ale, please"). Thus Edward's natural aggressive-assertiveness and affectionately-possessive caretaking of her combine to make Bella reach new heights of happiness, and to experience for the first time in her lonely, scared little life the absolute ecstasy of feeling understood, wanted and safe.

After ordering, Edward glances over, sees Isabella's bright eyes without tears, the smile on her face, the rosy red on her cheeks not from blushing but from happiness, and smiles himself, a feeling of great gratitude to the universe filling him much more completely than food, or any other mere physical pleasure, ever could.

He pulls out his phone and works on business, Bella-business, until their meals arrive, and then he's occupied first with cutting up her meat and buttering her bread, and then with wiping her mouth and hands. Finally, leaning in, Edward places a hand wide on Bella's full stomach while he kisses the top of her sweet head.

He tells her again, "You're such a good girl." This time, however, he adds in a more serious, quiet voice, "You're my good girl," and Bella hears it.

Turning her head she stares at him, not sure whether to be incredulous or afraid, and he sees her indecision. Nodding once, he says, "Yes, that's what I said, and I meant it. I'm taking you home with me, you know."

Bella continues to stare, her mind racing, trying to find a place to land, something clear to think, a course of action that makes sense.

Meanwhile, Edward matter-of-factly raises the arm rest between them, reaches over and unbuckles Bella, then pulls her sideways into his lap, adjusting her body to suit him as he goes.

When the side of her head hits his now familiar chest, and her hips are tucked just so between larger and wider hips, and her legs are lifted by a masterful arm and bent at the knee so they wrap up against a strong body seemingly made to shelter her own, Bella melts into the most peaceful, grateful, happy sleep she has ever known.

She doesn't awake until Edward is forced by the descent into Logan Airport to gently pull her off his body and back into her own seat, leaving the seat arm up between them and wrapping his own arm around her shoulders after he re-fastens the seatbelt as tightly as ever. Pulling Bella's head down against his shoulder, Edward traces circles against her hip and the tipped-over part of her jeans-clad bottom.

The first loop to go over the unmistakable round of her ass makes Bella freeze, but as Edward continues to trace his finger-tips against her, never pausing but moving matter-of-factly and oh-so-gently, she slowly relaxes, letting her head fall more fully against him and even leaning her body a little farther forward so he has better access to whatever he wants.

He grins wildly at her capitulating movements; he is enraptured; he is ecstatic. But he's smart enough not to go on too long before removing his hand and resting it on her hip instead, the side of one little finger seemingly-innocently falling against her backside, and leaning down to kiss her on the top of her head as he tells her, once more, "You're my good girl, Sweetheart."

And so Bella is insensible to the landing process, and only regains conscious awareness when Edward is moving and unbuckling her, then helping her to stand. "Wait here while I get our bags down," he says, most unnecessarily because she is mindless in her contented happiness and knows all too well already that she has nowhere else to go that would feel as good as this miraculous man in front of her makes her feel.

*Lucky for our Bella, her feelings and her deep desires for once do not mislead or undercut her, and the happiness she feels is lasting, only growing stronger and more true not just for her, but for Edward, and for everyone (which ends up being a very long list, with all the love they have to share) they care for too.

The End, For Now

*Cautionary note: In my younger, more desperate years, I once almost left the airport with a stranger I met en route back to school. He was no Edward, and I narrowly missed very likely being used and cast aside, or worse.

I was lucky, in that he didn't push me as hard as he could have (perhaps he sensed I would be more trouble than I'd be worth to him), and I listened to my instincts that noticed moments when he could have been kind, or protectively generous, and wasn't.

Please, please, PLEASE, use these stories to minister to an aching heart and lonely spirit, but not to chart your future or guide your real-world choices!

Sadly, there is no real-world course of action more likely to lead to your long-term well-being than steadfastly pursuing your own material independence (as hard and painful as that may be) AND carefully guarding your vulnerability with a pseudo-tough exterior borne of an awareness of the bad places most people attracted to your vulnerability will take you if you let them (and I of all people understand how hard it is not to let them, which is why you have to be so careful about the situations you put yourself in and the people you associate with in the first place), and an at-least-beginning respect for your own beauty and value to others (which is how I've figured out how to say "No" sometimes).

Message me if you need clarification on this point, though be forewarned that: 1)I may accidentally make things worse—internet communication is rife with pitfalls and misunderstandings and 2)I may take an obscenely long time to respond due to my own insecurities and overwhelmment.

Above all, be gentle with and TAKE VERY GOOD CARE OF YOURSELF!

xo l