Part Two

As Isabella prepares to go through the spirit window and enter into Edward's life, she clutches her books in one hand and checks her light blonde hair with the other, making sure every strand is in place. She is wearing Kristen's face but her hair is her own – she had insisted. Besides, in this situation a one hundred percent replica of Edward's first love would likely backfire. It could startle him, scare him off, or at the very least seem too unbelievable. And Edward seems to be all about logic. That just wouldn't do.

She takes a deep breath and goes through, emerging on the other side of the neon sign that is the spirit window in Gotham. And he's standing right there . . .

Oh my!

That wasn't supposed to happen. Heart racing, she ducks behind a row of wine bottles before he can see her. That's never happened before . . . She usually has some time to get situated before finding her assignment. Odd.

She watches Edward carefully through the shelving in the store where he's taking his time selecting a wine, thoroughly examining each choice. She smiles, knowing just how to introduce herself now. Stepping out from behind the shelving and into his row she says to him, "Impossible to pick the perfect bottle, isn't it?"

He answers without looking at her until he mentions wine pairings . . . As his head turns towards her, he has the response she had been expecting.

"Miss Kringle?" He looks so confused.

"No, oh no. My name's Isabella. I'm sorry to bother you. I don't usually talk to people. There's just something about you." And there is. My, he's handsome in person. Much more so than she had expected. Her heart feels a little funny just looking at him.

"No. No, please. There's no need to apologize. You ju -" he gulps. "You remind me of someone I used to know. A long time ago."

She knows.

As he looks down at the bottle in his hand and takes a deep breath to calm himself, Isabella knows it's time to make her move. She steps forward with a riddle . . . something she knows without a doubt that he is eternally fascinated by. . . and he solves it without missing a beat. Then, he smiles and introduces himself.

"I'm Edward. Edward Nygma."

Her work has begun.

They leave the wine shop together, Edward having offered to walk her home. "You mentioned you are new to Gotham. What brings you to town?"

Isabella holds up the books that she'd carried with her through the spirit window, about to tell her tale.

"Oh my, I didn't even notice," Edward says apologetically, ever the gentleman. "Can I help you carry those?"

Isabella almost blushes at his old-fashioned manners. She so rarely encounters that. She smiles in assent.

"You'll want to be careful with those." She says as he gently takes them from her. "Not only are they antiquarian books, they're why I'm here. In Gotham."

"Oh?"

"Yes. I plan to use them to negotiate a position for myself at the Gotham Public Library." She leans into him conspiratorially. "You see, these are the only books of their kind with information on Gotham's founding families. They include genealogical records going back hundreds of years. It turns out that some of the families were descended from kings and conquerors as expected, but others were descended from lost civilizations, their records marred by those who had oppressed them. The only copy to be found of those records are in those very books."

"Fascinating."

"Yes. They are of great historical significance and I really do think the Public Library will understand the value of having them archived here. In Gotham."

Edward nods.

"And with the books come me. They can't have one without the other," Isabella states firmly. "Do you know how long I've waited for this chance? To be a librarian at such an esteemed institution? It would be a dream come true for me to work at the main branch downtown."

Edward smiles and stops walking, placing his hands on her shoulders. They are in front of the stoop to her place. "Your plan is solid, Isabella. I have every confidence that you'll become Gotham Public Library's newest librarian."

"Thank you, Edward." She smiles softly. He has such faith in her.

Absently, as if he doesn't quite realize what he's doing, he touches a lock of her pale hair that has come loose and he tucks it back into her updo. Every strand in place. The way she likes it. The way he likes it.

"You aren't her," he says lowly. His voice is gravelly with emotion. "And yet . . ."

"And yet?" she whispers.

"Your face. I can't help but wonder . . ."

"Wonder what?"

"If the universe is trying to tell me something." He gulps. There is a brief pause before he says solemnly, "I really enjoy your company, Isabella."

"And I yours." It is the truth.

A heavy, serious silence that isn't quite awkward descends upon them. The hands that were on her shoulders, trail down to her elbows.

And then a car honks.

They break apart with a little laugh. . .

And end up sitting on her stoop until well past sunrise talking about anything and everything.