She'd woken up—or seemed to, shrieking "NO!"

Edward had seen her beginning to stir, lying beside her on the bed, but hadn't thought anything of it. She was a mobile sleeper, somnolently turning and shifting at the best of times.

The sound, and its abruptness hadn't alarmed him, but the clawing at herself had. She'd raked her fingernails down the shirt and over the shorts she was in, trying to scrape something away from her thighs.

After his first attempts to wake her with his voice didn't work, his sounds became more urgent. "Bella, stop!" he said, more loudly than he wanted to, and with his heart high in this throat, locked his hands around hers, holding them away from her body.

"CARLISLE!" he yelled, as she continued to somnolently fight not just her memory, but now him too.

Carlisle was there. "Let her go," he said, calmly but firmly.

"But—"

"Let her go," he said again, and Edward did, putting his hands to his hair.

She was scratching herself. He could smell the blood now, and if it wasn't bad enough to see her hurt, his mouth was flooding with venom.

"They're just scratches," Carlisle said, "she'll wake up soon."

"You can't know that," Edward said, watching, a desperate feeling growing.

The one person who could tell, was not there. She and Jasper had left to hunt. He supposed he should be grateful, considering the smell now saturating the room.

Then suddenly, Bella was silent, hissing in a hoarse breath, curling over on her side.

When Edward moved to touch her hand, the startled "Don't!" made him stop, halfway between Carlisle and the bed.

"Don't touch me," she said again, voice shaking, raspy.

"I won't," Edward said softly, face folding in over itself in worry, stepping back.

No one said anything else for a moment, but Carlisle switched on the bedside lamp. The soft click made Bella flinch.

"Bella," Carlisle said softly, "you're bleeding. Can you look and see how badly?"

When Bella looked at him, the pull of her eyebrows registering confusion, Carlisle said, "your thighs," gesturing with his hand.

Her breathing was ragged, rippling irregularly in and out. She didn't move.

"No," she said.

"OK," Carlisle said, frowning slightly, "be right back."

And he was, true to his promise, gone and returned in seconds, carrying an inhaler. He didn't move any closer than Edward was, but squatted, so that he and Bella were both at eye level. "You're having trouble breathing," Carlisle observed. "This will help." He held it out ot her. "Have you used one before?"

She shook her head, not reaching for it.

Edward was growing more and more anxious. This was not normal. She'd been having a nightmare. Had he triggered something in trying to stop her from hurting herself?

"I'd like to be alone," Bella finally said, wheezing through the words.

"Of course," Carlisle replied, putting his hand firmly on Edward's shoulder, turning him towards the door.

Edward shrugged away from him, an inaudible growl bubbling in his throat.

Carlisle turned him so Bella wouldn't see their lips moving. "This is just the trauma speaking, Edward," he said gently. "Give her some space."

Edward's face collapsed into one of worry, turning back to look at her. She was still struggling to breathe, the wheezy sounds unpredictable and strained.

"Just for now," Carlisle said, and put his hand to Edward's back, gently moving him out of the room.

Esme was waiting just outside for them. "Let me try," she said quietly.

Edward nodded, but frowned too, the worry distorting all the lines of his face.

Esme reached the bedside without objection from Bella, picking up the inhaler. She shook it methodically, and told Bella "Deep breath in, hold, and release, OK?"

Edward listened, relieved when her breathing became more regular, and less strained.

"Edward's rather worried about you," Esme said after a few minutes.

The rustle of Bella's hair, over the cotton pillow case told Edward she'd nodded.

"Bad dream?" Esme asked.

More rustling.

"How're the scratches?" Esme said.

"Embarrassing," Bella mumbled.

"Let me get something to clean them up with," Esme murmured, heading to the bathroom.

Bella risked sitting up, and looking. Nothing bad, but the logical part of her mind was chagrined. How stupid did you have to be, making yourself bleed in a house full of vampires?

"Thanks," she said, taking the damp cloth from Esme, wiping at her thighs. Then she froze, the action suddenly familiar, making her gorge rise, revulsion spreading.

"Can I—?" Esme asked, reaching.

'NO!" Bella said, going to smack her hand away. Esme moved it quickly, wanting avoid greater injury.

Putting her hands in her lap, Esme said, "you're doing fine, Bella."

Bella did not feel like she was doing fine.

She knew what had happened, bits of it so clear in her mind that she couldn't avoid them. Other pieces, though, lingered in lost corners, and surprised her with themselves in unexpected recall.

Deciding that this memory had had its moment in the open, Bella returned to wiping at her thighs, telling herself firmly that she couldn't spend her life being afraid of a memory. "Just a memory," she mumbled, blotting the last bit of blood away.

Esme didn't ask. She knew better than to.

"It will get better, Bella," she sighed instead, "really."

Bella wanted to believe this. It just wasn't feeling entirely credible.

"Here," Esme said, hand out. Bella handed her the cloth, a little nervously.

"It's OK," she said, "we're being careful." They were hunting far more often than necessary, but it could only do good, this vigilance.

Bella nodded.

Esme was gone and back again, the door softly closed behind her.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Esme asked. "Or are you ready to see your husband yet?" She smiled, saying the word. It gave her an unspeakable amount of joy to see them together, and more, knowing this next step had sealed this bond so formally.

Bella's answering smile was nervous. She shook her head, too jittery still.

"Have you thought about a honeymoon, at all?" Esme asked, thinking to move the conversation to lighter subjects.

Edward had asked her if she wanted to go away. They had lots of places they could stay, and be safe, but Bella had shaken her head. The idea of being away from the rest of the Cullens made her heart race. What if—?

There were so many what if's.

Most of these possibilities felt completely ridiculous in her head, and yet, in her body, the anxiety was real. It made her bones vibrate.

There was also the one thing that everyone had been so blasé about, made seem almost insignificant.

They were married.

And she was in no way ready to consummate said marriage.

He hadn't as much as whispered a suggestion of it, and she doubted he would, knowing his fear of hurting her.

Especially now.

"How did you—" Bella started, she frowned, blushing, "after—" Frustrated, she blew out a sigh. She couldn't even talk about it for goodness sake.

"Ah," Esme said, nodding in understanding, "I think," she said, "Rose would have better perspective on that, than I do, but...it's different," she offered, "after you're changed. Everything from before is," and she seemed to search the air with her hand, for the right word, "murky. Fuzzy."

Bella wished very much for her own memory to be so selectively murky.

"The memories that are clearest," Esme said, "are the ones you choose to hold onto. Or the ones you can't quite let go of." Her face, while she said this was marked by a sadness she couldn't hide. "My son," she said. "He's mostly what I remember." She didn't add that it was pneumonia that took him, which was one of the reasons they were so careful with Bella.

Bella listened, nodding.

"Though I'm not suggesting being changed as a solution," Esme clarified, thinking of Rosalie.

In the hall, Edward made an exasperated sound.

"But I should let you sleep," Esme said, not standing quite yet, studying Bella's face.

"OK," Bella said, wrapping her arms around her knees. "Thank you," she added, "you've all been amazing."

"You're family, Bella," Esme smiled, as if this explained it, turning, and padding from the room.

"Edward?" Bella called nervously.

"I'm here," he said, moving slowly towards the bed, stopping just shy of it.

"I'm sorry," she said, "I know that upset you."

He shook his head, wanting to reach out to touch her, but not certain of his welcome. Of the effect of his hands.

She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, standing, taking his hands in hers, resting her forehead on his chest. "I love you, I'm sorry I screamed at you."

He let his hands rest on her cheeks. "No," he said, "no more apologies from you. I failed you, Bella, in all the ways that mattered." He didn't list his well recited litany of faults. She'd silenced it earlier in the day, a finger to his lips.

"OK," she said, "I'll work on that, but you need to stop riding the guilt train. 'K?"

He smiled, "such a way with words, Mrs. Cullen."

"Deal?" she asked, not letting him distract her.

"Deal," he agreed, leaning down to kiss her cheek. She changed his target, and met his lips with hers.

It caught him off guard, and the touch of her hands, now at his torso, and the lingering smell of her blood, made his body collude against the better judgement of his mind. Her thin clothes, and their proximity, did not allow for her to miss the reaction this elicited in him.

She didn't exactly freeze, but her movements slowed to almost that, like cold molasses, uncertainly liquid, approximating solidity.

It took Edward a moment to discipline his body's reply to hers.

Bella didn't know what to say. She cursed Jacob again, for the horrified, stilted awkwardness he'd brought to her relationship with Edward. It was their wedding night, and she'd just shoved her husband from their bed, screaming at him not to touch her.

Not that they could actually be together in that way. Jacob had physically seen to that too. Not for weeks.

Edward was wondering what to say, too. She couldn't have missed his arousal. Did he talk to her about it? Or would it only draw attention to something she was already anxious about—with good reason. He wavered, uncertain, for a moment, but practicality finally took predominance, and he found himself saying, "you must be tired."

Always, Bella thought, at least these days. But did she want to sleep? God no. The dreams were so unpredictable. But, her body was starting to tremble, tired from standing, and needing sleep more than her she could muster her will for peace and wakefulness.

She nodded, sighing, tired of being tired.

"Can we do something tomorrow?" she asked. "You know, normal?"

"Of course," he said, "what do you have in mind?"

She thought about it for a minute. "The bookstore." There was a small one in town. Mostly second hand, with a limited selection, but normal, certainly. "And maybe coffee after?"

"Perfect," he said, an arm gently gesturing towards the bed.

She looked at it, feeling resigned, but climbed back under the covers, looking at him, and then patting the spot beside her.

Without even jostling the bed, he swiveled himself over her on his hands, landing gracefully on the other side. He grinned, hearing her laugh.

"Show off," she smiled.

He slid his arm under her, pulling her close, kissing the top of her head. "Sleep," he said, "more entertainment tomorrow, I promise."

The movement of him, beside her, brought the familiar, and pleasant tingle that raced up and down her arms—her legs. She twisted herself to face him, a tentative hand on his hip, inviting another, longer kiss.

Dangerous, his mind warned him. She's swinging between extremes.

She was. Sensations she hadn't felt since before Jacob had hurt her were waking, blossoming in secret places, drawing blood away from her hands and feet.

Not satisfied by the distance between them, Bella turned Edward onto his back with her own movement, straddling him.

The voice in his mind was louder: too dangerous.

"Bella," Edward whispered into her lips.

"No way," she said, hearing the tone, "we're married."

He smiled, widely, under her kiss, but it hid the bubble of worry he was feeling, swelling inside.

"Well then, Mrs. Cullen," he said, pretending to clear his throat, "as you were." He folded his hands behind his head.

"That," she said, bringing her teeth to his ear lobe, "is so not fair."

He chuckled, returning his hands to the neutral—and he hoped, safe—-territory of her back, gently kneading it. He could feel her relaxing into his touch.

Then he kissed her again, letting his hands drift to her hips.

This pleasant set of developments continued, and then Bella slid her hand to the waistband of his pajamas, tentatively moving them lower on his frame.

He raised his eyebrows, moving his head aside, and catching her eyes, seeing her blush.

"We are married," he reminded her, very softly, kissing her again, letting her slide them down further, pulling them off when she reached his upper thigh.

She traced the line of his legs, hands soft and warm over the fine hair there. She avoided touching him intimately, but he caught her quick and blushing glance.

She was so shy, still.

It was a relief to him.

Seeing her the other day, he'd been in awe of her own beauty. He wondered if her reaction to him would be the same.

Or one of fear.

Sitting up slightly, he pulled his shirt off in a smooth movement, returning his hands to their familiar cradle at her hips. His thumbs traced the velvet curve of her skin, a small patch exposed between her shirt and shorts.

She paused a moment, hands at the base of her top, and then slipped it over her head. Nervous to be seen, she ducked her head back down, to hide her torso in another kiss, and the curtain of her hair. Then she slipped off her own shorts.

It was Edward's turn to freeze.

She still straddled him.

"Bella," he said, in all seriousness, "we can't—"

"I know," she said, "I just—I know," she said awkwardly. "We can—" she blushed. She didn't have words for what they could do. She wasn't sure where the boundaries of what she could do were. But she didn't want to stop what they were doing.

"How 'bout, we just...not stop…this," she suggested.

Edward was listening to every part of her, and in the still present wheeze of her lungs, he could hear her fatigue. The gooseflesh on her back told him she was cold, too. He worried that it might be a sign of something else—nerves. A memory surfacing.

The trauma, reborn in their bed.

"Come lay beside me, under the blanket," he said, "you're cold."

Bella obliged, he settling the quilt over her, but she didn't like the distance it put between them, and pulled him closer, feeling the flesh between his hips brush hers.

Edward didn't make any move that wasn't lead by hers, but there was nowhere to hide his physical response this time.

She didn't flinch, or pull away, or do anything else to caution him, and he listened carefully to her reaction, gauging, making sure he wasn't drawing out some silent fear. He dared to move his hands lightly up her ribcage. He could have brushed her skin, or it could have been the air moving in the room, but she felt something meet the soft undersides of her breasts.

Then she froze.

It didn't seem preferable at the time, but when the overt shaking started, just a moment later, he wished her rigid posture would return.

He wrapped the blanket around her more tightly, fishing for his own clothes, slipping the pajama bottoms back on.

"Bella?" he said, "what do you need?"

She wasn't prone to swearing, but she did now.

He raised his eyebrows, hearing it, and took it as at least a sign of life.

"Bella?"

She answered by flopping frustratedly onto her back. "I'm fine," she said.

The tremble that rippled through her said otherwise.

He shook off the anger at Jacob Black, that made a similar, but quieter passage through his body, turning it towards a blunt confrontation of her lie. "OK," he said, "where were we?" and then slid his hand over her waist.

In a violent movement, she snapped her hand to his, and he moved away immediately.

He shoved away the guilt that clawed at him, forcing himself to be present.

"So," he said in all seriousness, "not fine?"

She gave him a dirty look.

"I love you," he whispered "nothing will change that." He grabbed her robe, laid at the foot of the bed, helping her slip it on, murmuring "you need to sleep."

"I love you too," she whispered shakily back to him.

"I didn't doubt it," he said with a small smile, "and I'm sorry," he said softly. "I should've stopped—it's too much—"

"No," she said, "don't."

He opened his mouth to say more, but she put her finger to his lips. "You're right," she said, "time for sleep."

In her heart, she let furl the small joy that they could at least begin a togetherness she'd wanted for so long.

The night soon made its natural demands known on her body, and she accepted that sleep was something she couldn't escape. When it began to curl its tendrils around her, she let them pull her down, thoughts swinging wildly between their rubber textures of the gentle present, and the cloying memory of her past.