Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight.

Aw, thanks so much for the positive responses for the last chapter. I was glad that y'all enjoyed reading it. It was one of my more favorite chapters to write so far. Updates might be coming slower and all, due to school work and everything else, but I promise to update when I get the chance. I'm trying to pace myself with this fic as well. Anyway, here's the latest chapter, and I hope you enjoy this as well! Thanks for reading!

Playing With Fire
Chapter Eighteen: Debt

The ride home was strangely silent.

I drove, and Paul sat solemnly in the passengers' seat. I knew that he would rather be anywhere else than there right now, but Sam had put his foot down. I was still a priority, no matter what had transpired that day. I hated that fact. I knew that Paul would rather be with his pack than babysitting me. The feeling of being cumbersome settled over me, yet again, like a lead weight.

"I know you don't want to be here," I told him as we turned into my driveway. "You can go to your pack. They need you right now. I think I'll be fine for one night."

Paul stared at me out the corner of his eye. The night around us was impossibly black, but I could still seem to make out the intensity of his gaze, "No."

I put the truck in park, "And why not?"

Paul scoffed, and I could tell by his tone that he thought I was being particularly stupid. "This is exactly what that bloodsucker is waiting for. An opportunity when you're alone. And this is a prime one. One that she would gladly take if you were to be by yourself for even a moment."

I couldn't ignore the chill that went down my spine.

"So. That's why not." He crossed his arms, his words final.

I looked at him, wishing for once that he would tell me what he was thinking. Usually, he had no problem dispelling his thoughts - well, at least, the ones that were about me. He never opened up about himself, but I didn't blame him. Why open up to the vampire loving girl with a target the size of Texas on her back?

I nodded at him, not wanting to say anything else, especially not the fact that the way he was staring at me was making me increasingly nervous.

He seemed to realize that at the last moment and tore his gaze from mine. I felt my heart racing traitorously, hating myself. This was not what was supposed to be happening. My heart should not be able to beat like this anymore - and it should not be for Paul.

I unbuckled my seat belt and rolled out of the cab of my truck. I didn't even hear Paul get out of the truck, but when I turned around he was on the porch. He looked at me for a moment, judging that Charlie was inside and breathing, before running around the side of the house to jump into my window, no doubt.

I inhaled shakily and stepped through the door, only to be faced with a red-eyed Charlie.

I hated seeing him like that. He looked so sad and so broken. Harry had been one of his best friends, and he had just lost him so quickly, for reasons that he could never understand or comprehend.

"Hi, Bells." His voice was rough from crying.

"Hey, Dad," I replied lamely. "Are you okay?"

Charlie looked at me for a moment, as if surprised, and then said, "Harry…"

I nodded at him, "Paul told me."

"Paul…" Charlie trailed off. He looked like he wasn't even thinking about what I was saying, though I was kind of nervous when he picked up on my bodyguard's name. "He's a good guy."

Somehow, hearing Charlie say that about Paul made my stomach twist unnaturally. It was an odd feeling, one that I hadn't had in so long… I wasn't sure what to say to that, but I did what I could. I pushed by the awkwardness about closeness that he and I shared and threw my arms gawkily over his shoulders. "I'm sorry, Dad."

Charlie didn't seem to mind my impromptu embrace. He leaned his head against my forearm and sighed. I felt the breath exhale over my skin.

"Are you hungry?" I asked him as I pulled away. "I could fix you something."

"Would you…ah…mind?" Charlie said, and at that moment his stomach chose to growl. He looked up at me sheepishly, and I was surprised how vulnerable my father was at this moment. I decided I didn't like it. I couldn't ever see him in this much pain again. It was…unnatural. I had to do whatever I could to protect him.

I rose from my crouched position beside him and said, "Would you like anything in particular?"

Charlie looked at me and for the first time that night, a kind smile spread across his tired features, "Just make it good. That won't be a stretch for you, Bells."

I felt my cheeks flush as I nodded and turned to head into the kitchen.

I decided to make fried chicken. Not a completely difficult dish to make, and it was something I found comforting. I put some biscuits in the oven and brought out a package of macaroni and cheese.

While I was frying the chicken, I heard Charlie shuffle into the kitchen and sit down at the table. He said nothing, as was per usual. He did go and get himself a glass of water and down it in a few gulps before refilling it and repeating the process. I tried to work as quickly as I could, so that Charlie could eat. He looked as if he hadn't had a bite to eat all day and that made me feel guilty.

The phone rang.

It was enough to make me jump a bit. I flipped over a piece of chicken with my fork before leaning across the counter to retrieve the phone that rested against the wall. I leaned it against my ear and said, "Hello?"

"Bella, hey," Angela's familiar voice echoed over the phone.

Somehow, this soothed me. "Hey, Ang. What's up?"

I heard her chuckle lightly, a bitter and odd sound even for her. "I was just checking in on you. Seeing if everything was alright."

I felt a smile crease my face. "Thanks. I'm just cooking supper for Charlie. Everything's…well…"

Angela let out a little exhale of breath, "Do you need anything? I can make brownies or something…"

I laughed at that - strange, considering all that had conspired today, "That's very nice of you, Angela. But - ah - it's okay. You don't have to trouble yourself."

"Could I bring it over, anyway? Maybe tomorrow?"

Tomorrow was Sunday. That could work, I guess. At least I'd have some company over the weekend instead of Paul. Not that he wasn't good company - well, good was a stretch. He was company, at least. Someone that I didn't have to hide from. Someone that didn't hide what he was thinking about me, good or bad.

"Er…yeah…" I said. "But, um, Paul will probably be here, if you don't mind that."

I could practically see her smiling over the phone. She wasn't like Jessica about the gossip. Her smile meant that she was happy that I was at least hanging out with people - even if they were very tall and very muscular and very attractive. Angela wouldn't go spreading it around school that they were my new boy toy, something of which I was endlessly grateful for.

"No, of course not," she replied. "I won't stay long, though. I know that this is hard for you two."

"Yeah," I said. "But I'm glad that you are just checking up. I appreciate the thought." I flipped over another piece of chicken and put in on a paper towel I had laid on a plate before.

"No problem, Bella," she said kindly. "I'm your friend. So if you need anything, just call."

The notion made me smile. I hadn't felt truly like someone was my friend in a long time.

"Thanks, Angela." I said. "I'll talk to you then."

"Bye, Bella."

I hung up the phone and went back to cooking the chicken. I was able to finish several pieces of the meat and take care of the macaroni and finish cooking the biscuits while Charlie chugged another glass of water and sat there. Usually, the silence in our household was a comfortable thing, punctured with a random bit of conversation here or there. But now everything was beyond uncomfortable. A lingering sense of sadness fell over the room. Not that I expected anything less.

I fixed Charlie his food and placed the plate in front of him before grabbing my own plate. I put some food on it but found myself unable to eat. I wasn't sure why. My stomach felt unsettled, but I tried my hardest to at least eat something. I failed, to say the least.

Charlie scarfed everything down. I supposed he wanted the distraction of a piping hot meal. It didn't seem to be looking, for his eyes were miles away.

We ate in silence.

After a while, Charlie got done with his food and rose to put his dishes in the sink. I smiled and moved over to rinse off the dishes.

"I think I'm gonna turn in early, Bells." He kissed the top of my head. "Sleep good."

"Thanks," I replied. "You too."

I waited until I heard his bedroom door close before I got a paper plate from the cabinet and moved to pile up the rest of the chicken onto it before putting macaroni and two biscuits on it. The thing almost buckled under the weight, but I figured the food wouldn't be on there long enough for it to matter anyway.

Turning off all the lights and locking the door, I then made my way up the stairs and to my room. I opened the door and looked around, finding that Paul was standing by the window, a common sight. He was looking out the window, fingers pressed to the glass, making it fog because of his increased body heat.

"Paul…?"

"Yeah," he said, his voice rough. "What is it?"

"I…ah…brought you something."

Paul waited a moment - a moment that felt longer than it actually was - and turned around. His face was hard and impassive, his eyebrows pulled together in thought, his mouth tense. He looked at me a moment before looking down at the massive amount of food I held in front of me.

Strangely, impossibly, a smile stole over his face, like the sun peeking from behind a cloud. It was bitter and tinged with something I couldn't identify, but it was a welcome sight nonetheless.

"Holy shit," he breathed, shaking his head as he crossed his arms. "The hell did you do while I was up here?"

I shrugged, "Cooked. I, um, Charlie looked like he needed something, but he didn't eat much. And I cooked more than was enough for two people…I don't think he noticed."

Paul was still shaking his head. His dark eyes moved up to meet mine, "You're…" he trailed off.

I felt my cheeks flush as he kept his eyes on me a bit too long. I wasn't sure what he was going to say, but for some reason, I didn't want to hear it. It frightened me that he might have been going to give me a compliment, in his own, odd way. Something about the moment we shared was too intimate, something more complex than anything else I'd felt.

He finally moved his eyes away from mine and focused on the food in my hands, almost too much. He scratched the back of his head, "Is that all for me?"

I snorted, "Well, I'm not hungry."

"Did you even eat?"

"…not really…"

Paul scoffed at that, "Well, shit, if you aren't going to eat all that food…"

"That's what I brought it in here for, genius."

Paul rolled his shoulders and looked like I'd agitated him, "Just trying not to look like I'm mooching off of anyone."

I sat the plate of still steaming food on my desk, right by my ancient computer. He stared at it for a moment, almost as if in longing, before heading over to it. I teased, "Since when do you care about that?"

Chicken in his mouth, he looked down at me. He chewed for a moment and then swallowed, before addressing me, "I don't want to owe you."

It wasn't a sharp retort, nothing insulting about it. He was just stating a fact, as honest as anything I'd ever been privy to. I felt a blush coat my cheeks, a reaction that I still hadn't been able to grow out of. I didn't think I ever would. My mind was whirling at his words. He didn't want to owe me. Didn't want to owe me? The whole idea was ludicrous. That he could actually owe me anything that could match up to what I…

I didn't realize I had opened my mouth until the words broke the air, "I'm the one that owes you more than I can ever repay…"

Paul paused, his hand over the fork that I had brought along with the macaroni. He let his hand drop to his side before he looked at me. There was a certain kind of…unguarded feel to him at that moment that I couldn't really place. He looked to be thinking, searching for words that I wasn't sure if I actually wanted to hear, before running a hand through his messy hair and giving a light growl, something that sounded both wolfish and human at the same time - and all strangely vulnerable.

"Don't say that," he said, his voice raw and almost painful to listen to. "You don't owe me anything."

The words came pouring forth, against my own volition. I hated it, but the word vomit kept coming, "Don't discredit yourself."

Paul looked like he was going to respond, except I cut him off by raising a finger.

"I…you…" I struggled for the words, trying to put them in the right order, they seemed to be tangled around one another, clogging my throat. "You might not think much of me, but…you've helped me. More than you know. I know you probably think of me like some kind of leech loving, pathetic girl, but…what you don't see is that you've helped me in these few weeks…so much. I…I…"

Paul raised his hand this time, "Stop. Bella, listen to me. Just…don't think you owe me anything. Debts and their debtors…let's just both stop with all that. Agreed?"

I watched him as he picked up a biscuit, let it hover over his nose for a moment before smelling it, and then taking a bite. He closed his eyes sighed through his nose. I watched, slightly enraptured, as he opened his eyes and looked at me.

"You really can cook, you know." He picked up the plate with one hand, balancing it easier than I had with two, and walked to the rocking chair, where he sat down and started rocking before digging into the mountain of macaroni.

I blushed, unused to open compliments from anyone - especially Paul. "Er…thanks…"

He appraised me for a moment and then sighed, placing the plate of food at his feet before picking up a chicken leg and throwing, casually and underhanded, it at me. Defying all odds, I caught it, the grease coating my fingers and my hands and my shirt and I braced it against my body to actually complete the catch.

"Eat."

I opened my mouth to protest, but he cut me off, "And don't say you're not hungry. You haven't eaten all day."

He watched me like a hawk until I actually put the chicken to my lips and took a bite. Paul smirked at that, in that irritating, self-satisfied way that he practically patented. I paused, and he made a shooing motion as if to say, "Go ahead, you skinny bitch."

I rolled my eyes and ate the rest of the chicken leg without protest. He watched me finish and then tossed me a wing. I sighed and tucked into that, too. I hated to admit, but I was hungry.

Soon, we ended up sitting on the floor with the large plate of food between us. Paul had just finished the macaroni and threw a biscuit that hit me in the head. I started laughing, and he joined in.

We looked at each other then, our eyes meeting. A quiet stole over the room as we realized that we were laughing in the wake of a tragedy. But maybe that was okay…maybe that was what we needed. He stared at me for a moment, as if ashamed at laughing, and then looked down at his hands, folded around each other. There was only one piece of chicken left, and he slid the paper plate over to me, the Styrofoam bumping against my leg as it came to a stop.

There was a brief moment in which I stared at it before picking it up, and that was the moment that Paul took to say the very phrase I would never have expected of him.

Rough and unwarranted, he said, "Thanks for this, Bella."

I gave him a smile, trying to ignore the chill bumps moving over my arms. "No problem."

Because, in all honesty? It wasn't a problem at all - to want to help him, to want to make him feel better, to laugh with him and try to cheer him up in the aftermath of a tragedy that had rocked us all…

It was something I wanted to do.

Frankly, that scared me as much as it excited me.

End Chapter Eighteen.