"What do you need?" Edward asked Bella, carrying her inside the house.

Her head was resting against his shoulder, too heavy to hold up, but she spoke clearly, wanting to be rid of every last ghost of a touch that Jacob had laid on her.

"A shower," she breathed out.

"OK," he said, his nose buried in her hair, going to set her down on the bed in his room. "I'll go get Alice."

"No," Bella said too quickly, voice rising, clawing at his shirt, trying to keep hold of him, "don't leave. Please—just stay." Her voice was desperate. Terrified, he realized

"I won't," he said softly, holding her, perching on the edge of the mattress.

They stayed that way, he holding her, hands gently moving, waiting for her breathing to calm down again. More surreptitiously, he was trying to discover, through the fabric of the sweatshirt, any new hurts.

"Can't you?" Bella asked.

Edward didn't respond right away, startled by the request. Of course he could. Just—

"Please," she said in a small, tremulous voice, nervous at this silence.

"Of course," he said, realizing how much she must need his confidence and reassurance. He stood, moving towards the bathroom with her, feeling full of trepidation.

He had never undressed her. Ever. He'd always done his best to not just give her this privacy when Alice and Rose had had to help her before, but to keep his own wants under control. There had been unintentional flickers of his sisters' thoughts he'd caught unawares, but nothing like this.

He was afraid.

That he would be moved by his own desires.

Helping her stand, he gently tugged off the t-shirt and sweatpants she was wearing.

"All of it," she said, shivering, "get rid of it."

Then, "and burn it."

He paused, knowing the scents he'd caught at her neck, grimly speculating what had happened to her. He didn't ask, instead doing what she asked, averting his eyes as he braced her against himself, turning on the water. As the water hissed and steamed, he shrugged off his own shirt and trousers, leaving only his underwear on.

She could barely stand, and while he held her close, he fretted that she would be chilled, and turned up the water's temperature.

Bella was trying to rub the soap between her hands, but she kept fumbling with it, and Edward took it from her.

"My neck," she whispered. "Everywhere. Just get it off of me. Please.'

He nodded, and washed her as gently, and quickly as he could. Everytime he touched her, he expected this next contact would be the one that made her flinch, or cry, but she simply laid against him, head at his shoulder, hands curled up under her chin.

He was nervous beyond himself when he turned her around, commanding his body not to respond in the way it wanted to.

He hated himself for wanting her. Loathed that he could even think it. He washed her chest quickly, trying to brush his hands over her lower body as dispassionately as possible. When she spoke though, he froze.

"Make love to me," she said. It was almost cried out.

He put the soap down slowly.

"What?" he said, doubting his perfect hearing. She couldn't have—

"Make love to me, please," she whispered, turning back to him. "I can't," she started, shaking her head, "I can't have that—I can't have that memory. Please, just end that—make it go away—"

She buried her face in his chest with this last request.

He closed his eyes, wrapping his arms around her, keeping her solidly in the showerhead's spray, still worried, in the background of his mind, that she was getting cold.

"Bella," he said, "I love you...and I can't. You're hurt, you're so frail. You still...you still have stitches. When you're better—"

"Please," she whispered. "I can't have this anymore. I need you to take it away. Please—"

"Bella," he said softly, trying to gently rub her back, avoiding pressing too hard over the bones he could feel with a frightening clarity, "I will. I promise. But not now, not when you're so unwell. And not because of anything Jacob Black has done. When we do, it will be because you want to, not because of anything he's caused."

She had started crying as he spoke, and didn't stop, sobs breaking out of her throat.

"I love you," he whispered, and held her. When the shaking from her tears subsided, and he felt her shiver, he said "I love you, Bella. Nothing will ever change that." He turned off the water, wrapping her in a towel, carrying her to the bed.

It was warm when he laid her on it, and he put another warm blanket over her. Electric, she realized, feeling the cord snaking through them, above, and below her. They did little to lift the chill she felt inside.

"Alice wants to come and dry your hair," he said, sliding a nightgown over her head, and pulling away the damp towel.

"OK," she said, grabbing at his hand, "but don't leave." This last was said with near panic.

"I won't leave," he said, "but I think I should probably put something dry on if I'm going to be by you."

He was standing beside the bed, doing his best not to drip on her, his hair still wet, underwear soaked.

She'd been so lost in herself that she hadn't even realized, and then she looked, and giggled.

Edward's eyebrows rose, his lips lifting in a gentle curve.

"You're in your underwear," Bella said, giggling even more.

"I am," he said, smiling, "and before Alice comes in and makes fun of me, I'm going to change."

It was seconds later that he returned, dry and decent.

"Can Alice come in?" He asked, hand in hers.

"Yes," She said, feeling the heaviness of exhaustion coming on, "but don't leave."

"I won't unless you ask me too, OK?"

She breathed out nervously, nodding, watching Alice enter and approach, a hair dryer in hand.

Edward sat behind Bella on the bed, keeping their hands linked.

"I'm sorry, Bella. When I saw his choice, it was too late," Alice said, swallowing.

"It's OK Alice," Bella said, wanting to say more, but the words felt like they were slipping away, falling places she couldn't reach. Her eyelids were drooping, heavier with each blink, until finally they didn't lift again.

Alice plugged in the dryer, and began methodically working through Bella's hair.

It's going to be bad, Edward, she told him.

"I know," he said, thumb running over Bella's hand.

No, Alice said, frowning, and showed him.

He cringed.

"Sorry," she mumbled.

He shook his head. "Thank you. I knew it would be difficult...just…" he sighed.

After a moment, Alice said, "Oh!" and looked at him, quickly obscuring her thoughts.

"What?" he asked, eyebrows making a suspicious and deep V, "what are you hiding?"

She gave him a genuine smile, tinged with what would surely have been a teary sadness in a human, "something...really beautiful. I just...don't want to spoil it for you."

Bella's hair dry, Alice brushed it, and moved it away from her face, slipping from the room with a soft "bye."

Edward pulled Bella into his arms, wrapping her securely in the warmth of the heated blanket. It was early evening, and he had a sudden stab of practical worry: he wasn't sure if she'd eaten.

Her breathing was better, but the pneumonia had thinned the flesh on her. Her skin seemed even more translucent than usual, cheekbones now pronounced in her face.

Carlisle was asking him silent questions, and Edward was answering them almost as inaudibly.

"No," he said, when Carlisle asked if he'd seen any new bruises.

Do you think there was another assault? Carlisle asked.

Edward cringed again. "I don't know." He looked down, a solid lump in his throat, hoping. There'd been no blood or other smells, but the odour of latex typically didn't linger. He could have. It was clear enough from Emily's thoughts that he'd had access. That something untoward had happened.

That he'd been in bed with her.

Carlisle had other, more specific questions that needed answering by Bella, and he wanted to listen carefully to her lungs. He would have to wait until she was awake, though, so he left Edward to his own thoughts.

Bella's sleep was not peaceful. She shifted in his arms, twisting, and he reluctantly put her down in the bed, sliding in behind her. HIs light kiss to the back of her neck chilled her, and she started, a choked "no!" coming out of her mouth.

"I'm here," Edward said calmly, hearing her heart thump, smelling the adrenaline, and the rank odour of fear. "You're safe," he tried, "and if it helps, you can pretend I'm standing in front of you in my underwear."

The sound of her breathing shifted, an uncertain laugh there. She had turned over to face him, burying her face in his shirt. "Oh God, Edward, I missed you so much. No one believed me. I told them. They thought I was crazy. Jacob was there—"

Edward had stopped moving. Stopped breathing. He was too full of attention, and then she stopped mid sentence, afraid of what she'd done.

"You can tell me anything," he said softly. "I'm not going anywhere."

Her breathing quickened, and she tested this claim. "I thought you'd left," she said, almost choking on the words, "I thought—I thought you'd changed your mind—"

"No," Edward said, his chest tight, "I'm so sorry, Bella. Never—I can't—I won't leave you."

She nodded, pressing her forehead into the pocket made by his clavicle.

"He thinks—he thinks that I wanted to." She was struggling to get the words out, not brave enough to even meet his eyes, "he thought I wanted to today." The words were barely formed, coming out with sobs, "and if Emily hadn't come in—I don't know. I couldn't move—when he touched me I froze. I'm sorry—"

"No," he said, lifting her chin gently with his fingers. "You have nothing to be sorry for, Bella. He…" and here he sighed, looking for words, "he has wronged you horrifically. It doesn't matter what he thinks."

He let these words rest on her mind, and hoped that their repetition would allow them to become a truth she could accept. The fraught expression on her face told him their meaning had been refused entrance there so far.

"I'm afraid," she said, "of so many things right now. I'm afraid that my dad will try something else—use his contacts somehow. Can he?" she asked. "Take me away? Again?"

It would have been easy to say no, to lie, to hold her and offer her this empty reassurance. Charlie could. Edward didn't doubt the inventiveness of the human mind, when it came to love. He was legally next of kin. Here though, his own thoughts proved equal to his feeling, and he understood the happy thing that Alice had seen.

His eyes brightened. "Marry me," he said, "and he can't."

She finally dared to look up at him. "What?"

"Marry me," he said again. "I'll be your next of kin. He'll have no say, not legally, over what happens to you." There would be other legal means they would use to strengthen this new bond too. But marriage, this would tie them together in a way that Charlie would be powerless to break.

"How?" she asked, visions of a wedding, and all its practical entailments making her head swim.

"Tomorrow," he said, "we can go to the courthouse. First thing. You're eighteen, and on paper, I am too. We can get married." Then, he whispered conspiratorially, "and then you can get out of the wedding Alice was planning."

She smiled, really smiled, looking at him. "OK." Then he leaned down and kissed her forehead.

That was one fear down.

Now onto the others.

"What else is worrying you?" he asked.

He expected her answer to this one.

"Jacob," she said. "I'm afraid he'll try to come get me." Her hands had begun to tremble as she spoke, and he took them in his, not sure if fear, or her physical state were responsible.

"We'll keep you safe," he said. "Sam will know, soon enough, if he doesn't already, what Jacob's done."

Bella paled. "He thought I'd cheated on you, Edward. They all did. Jacob told them—"

"Lies," Edward said. "Sam will make him phase, Bella. He hasn't, because Carlisle told him not to. He was already thinking about it when we were leaving. The truth will out, soon enough."

The tremble was not subsiding with his reassurance, and he squeezed her hand, "you need to eat," he declared, and stood, "let me get you something."

"No," she said, all her energy in her frail hand, "stay. Please don't leave."

He was beginning to understand just how literal this repeated request was. She was afraid to be apart from him. At all. Even inside the house, only separated by walls.

"OK," he said. "But you need to eat." He knew someone would have heard him, and would bring something for her soon enough. "And Carlisle wants to see you, too."

Bella bit her lip. She wanted neither food, nor more attention, but recognized the necessity of both, reluctantly nodding.

Carlisle tapped at the door before opening it, a few minutes later, bag in one hand, tray in the other.

"Thank you," Bella said, still marvelling at the dexterity the Cullens so carefully concealed in most human company.

"No problem," Carlisle murmured, setting the tray by the bed, "I'd like it you had something, before I look at you. Your blood sugar seems very low."

How he could tell that, she had no idea, but took the glass of juice he handed her with shaky fingers. Edward's own wrapped around hers, helping her hold it steady.

"Pneumonia packs a punch," Carlisle said, pressing the stethoscope lightly to her back, "but you're young, and you'll heal quickly. You should be able to walk and stand mostly unaided by tomorrow," he said, "for short periods."

Edward nodded, understanding. It took Bella a moment to latch on to the significance of this.

"Oh," she said, realizing anew, and then blushing, that everyone would have heard everything.

Carlisle saw, and said gently, "there are no secrets here, Bella, but there is privacy, as much as we can offer one another. No one will speak of what they know you aren't comfortable discussing"

She nodded, appreciating this small consideration. They'd had decades to get used to this. She, much less time.

After he checked her blood pressure, he inspected the bruises on her arms and ribs, satisfied that they were healing.

"How're your stitches feeling?" he asked softly.

Bella wondered if this was a polite way of asking if Jacob had raped her again.

"OK," she said quietly.

Carlisle made a noncommittal "mm," wondering exactly what "OK" encompassed.

"Any discomfort, or pain?" he asked, more precisely.

She wasn't sure how to answer this. When Jacob had touched her, her frozen stillness had made his presence painful. Things seemed fine now.

"I feel fine now," she said.

This alarmed Edward far more than it reassured him.

"What do you mean, you're fine now?" he asked, not able to stay silent.

"I'm fine," she shook her head—an attempt at dismissal—heart pounding.

"Edward," Carlisle said, the word a warning. Then he turned his attention back to Bella. "But you've had some pain?"

She nodded, swallowing.

"Bella," he said slowly, trying to find a circumspect way to discover what he needed to know, "were the stitches disturbed at all, beyond your own movement?"

Yes, Bella realized, that was what he was trying to ask.

"Yes," she said. The word slipped out with a distinct quaver.

Edward was glad his face was behind Bella's, because it was pulled tight, jaw shut with anxiety.

Carefully avoiding putting an operator to the statement, Carlisle said, "then your stitches should be checked. They might be ready to be removed" He waited a moment, letting her consider his wording. "Which I can do, or I can have someone make a house call."

Edward's hand moved mechanically at her back, forming an infinite repetition of soft circles there. His thoughts were too lost in contemplating how he could enact a slow revenge on Jacob Black.

"Can you check?" Bella asked. Her heart rate was a Bach prelude, skipping and tripping over rippling arpeggios. The speed of it brought Edward back to himself, and he shifted slightly on the bed, knowing she would need space to move.

"Don't go," she said, tensing.

"I'm not," he assured her, fingers meshing with her own.

"OK, Bella, can I get you to lay down?" Carlisle asked. He was pulling out the supplies he might need.

Bella did, a wave of nerves sweeping over her. Edward sat beside her still, her hand cemented into his.

She started at Carlisle's touch, despite his quiet talk, narrating what he would be doing.

No signs of trauma, Carlisle purposefully thought to Edward, whose hand softened in Bella's.

"Can I take the stitches out, Bella?" Carlisle asked.

She nodded, trying to breathe normally, trying not to cry.

Edward kept silent, vibrantly aware of how tenuous her control was.

Mercifully, Carlisle was efficient. "All done," he said quietly. "You'll feel a little tender still, for a few days," he added, pulling the blanket back up over Bella, "and I recommend not disturbing those tissues for another week or so."

A horrified thought struck Bella. Despite what she'd asked, in desperation, just hours before, the realization that Edward might expect...would he? No, she told herself, absolutely not. She couldn't, not really.

Her breathing accelerated.

"Bella," Edward said, hand brushing her hair away from her face. "You're safe, remember?"

She nodded, but it was mechanical.

"I love you," he whispered. "You're safe."

The nod this time was more genuine.

Carlisle packed up the remainder of his supplies, and then turned to Bella with an almost playful look. "One more thing," he said, "completely non-medical," pulling out a flexible tape measure. He handed it to Edward, who grinned, taking it.

"Alice," Edward said, by way of explanation.

"Wants to measure..?" Bella asked, eyebrows up, stifling an unintended yawn.

"You," Edward said, as if this was obvious.

Carlisle caught Bella's eye, smiling, miming sewing with one hand.

"Hold still," Edward said, sliding the tape measure around her, quickly measuring her around from shoulders to hips.

Bella caught Alice's distant "thank you!" and looked at Edward, still confused.

"For tomorrow," Edward smiled at her, kissing her forehead. "She's making you a dress."