If Charlie Swan hadn't been so distraught, he would have seen the insult on his deputy's face.
"You're sure?" Charlie asked again.
"Yes," Mike said, more teresly than he needed to. He had paperwork to get to. Didn't need his boss asking him the same question twice. Or three times. "Unless she normally has a ring on that finger, and her boyfriend refers to her as Mrs. regularly, I don't think I missed anything." Then he walked away, lips twisted to the side, and sat down at his desk, back set purposefully towards Charlie.
Had she really? Charlie was thinking. Would she really marry him?
He was mid-sip into his coffee, when he stopped abruptly, putting down away from the paperwork on his desk.
Was she pregnant?
And, if she was, whose was it?
He shook his head. It would be too early to tell, if it was Jacob. Or, would it?
He was counting back the days. They shared a bathroom. He knew when she was menstruating. And he knew how long it took bruises to run the rainbow.
He leaned over his desk, eyebrows squashed together, hands over his face. Yes, he realized, she could be pregnant. She wouldn't know yet. Maybe another week.
She'd resembled a tomato, the last time he'd asked if she needed birth control, and had muttered a horrified no. When he'd pressed the point, they'd had one of the most awkward, and Lord-help-me-forget-we-ever-spoke-of-this conversations where she made it clear that she and Edward hadn't had sex. Ever. That Edward wanted to wait.
He gave a soft moan, and kicked the desk.
Enough, he told himself. Get off your ass and do something.
"I'm done for the day," he called to Mike, and then, picking up his keys, walked out the door.
He stopped at home, deliberately changing out of his uniform, and then walked into Bella's room.
She'd packed her clothes, a few books, her toiletries, but nothing else. She'd been in such a rush.
Because you shoved her in the back of your squad car, like a fricking criminal, asshole, the voice reminded him. To go see her rapist. Way to go father of the year.
Shut up, he told it, and began to collect things he knew Bella might be missing: the favourite sweater he'd pulled out of the dryer last night, her photo album—probably too heavy or big to pack—and several CD's he knew she listened to. Once he'd packed it all neatly in a box, he added the mail that had come for her. Then he sat down at the dining room table, and wrote her a letter. Just in case she wouldn't talk to him.
After an hour, there were several abandoned versions, each hastily scratched out, as he filled page after page of the school note paper he'd taken from her room.
When he was done, he lined up the edges of the paper precisely, making a perfect three piece fold, before setting it in an envelope, and sealing it. He wrote 'To Bella, from Dad', on it.
Then he walked purposefully past his squad car, and packed the box in his truck, normally reserved for towing the boat, and began the drive to the Cullens.
Bella had finally fallen asleep, and waking from this much needed nap, had utterly refused to stay in bed.
"You fainted earlier today," Edward pointed out, keeping an arm around her when she insisted on standing up. "And you haven't eaten much."
"I'm sure this counts for something," Bella said, pointing her chin towards the IV bag hooked on the stand beside her.
Edward tilted his nose down towards her, face serious.
"And there's no food here," she pointed out, starting to walk towards the bedroom door.
"No," he said, picking her up, "but that can easily be remedied."
"I can still walk," she smiled. "You wouldn't want my legs to atrophy or anything, now would you?"
He ignored her protest, and carried her downstairs, settling her on the couch, IV now hooked onto a lamp stand. "Food first," he said, "walking later."
Esme was busying herself in the kitchen, and Edward darted towards it, and back again with a bowl of what looked like...yup. Soup.
Soup.
She wanted to sigh, but didn't.
She liked soup as much as the next person, but after several days, her enjoyment of it had faded.
Edward had noticed the microscopic change in her expression. "Can I get you something else?" he asked softly.
"No," she said, lying incredibly convincingly for herself, "this is lovely."
Edward laughed quietly. "No secrets, Bella," he said, shaking his head. "What do you want?"
"Toast?" she asked timidly.
"Sure," he said.
Alice had been scanning Charlie's decisions, though, and now having seen the timeline they were operating on, gave Edward her precise warning. Ten minutes, she thought to her brother. She's going to be eating when he gets here. Warn her.
He put the bread into the toaster, rapidly explaining what Alice was saying to Esme, and to all the other ears in hearing.
"Bella," he said, returning, tucking her hair away from her face, "your father's coming here."
She pulled in a breath too rapidly. "When?"
"In the next few minutes."
"Oh," she breathed out, eyes flickering back and forth, like she was looking for something.
"You don't have to see him," Edward told her, "and he can't harm you, or compel you in any way."
She was nodding too quickly, breathing picking up. "I know," she said, voice catching, tears rising.
"Do you want me to send him away?"
She shook her head, wordless again.
"Do you want to see him then?"
She nodded.
What she wanted, was for her father to have believed her. To have given solace, when she told him someone had hurt her. To give her a hug now, to tell her everything was going to be OK.
And she wanted to yell at him, and not see him, all at the same time.
"You won't leave?" she asked Edward, hand suddenly tight over his.
"No," he said, his voice almost a growl. The man had earned far more than his distrust. If he had any idea whose home he was really driving to, he wouldn't come unannounced, and certainly not alone.
Before Charlie's tires hit the crunch of the gravel, his thoughts preceded him, and the remorse Jasper could feel was almost painful.
"It'd better be," Edward growled quietly, hearing Jasper's thinking.
It took Charlie some time to calm his nerves, before he opened the cab door, and even more time before he picked up the box, and began what felt like a long walk to the house.
Carlisle was starting to worry for his health, by the time Charlie actually knocked. His heartbeat was far too rapid, to be sustained for long.
"Charlie," he said, aiming for a tone that was cool, but not threatening.
"Hi, Carlisle," he said, heart thudding. "I'd like to talk to Bella."
Carlisle stared at him, for just a moment longer than was necessary, nodding. "I'll see if she wants to see you," he said softly. "Please wait here." Then he closed the door, leaving Charlie waiting anxiously on the steps.
"Bella," Carlisle said, coming to squat beside her, "do you want to see him?" He'd overheard her conversation with Edward, but wanted to be sure. Her heart rate was running just as fast, if not faster, than her father's.
She nodded, hand wrapped too tightly around Edward's. The lump in her throat was making talking difficult.
Carlisle walked back at a leisurely human pace, and opened the door again, "Come in, Charlie," he said, "she's just this way."
After showing Charlie to the living room, he said softly, and purportedly to Bella, "Esme and I are just in the kitchen." It was loud enough for Charlie to hear, to know that Bella had advocates her father considered his equals in age close by.
Charlie was staring at Bella. She'd lost enough weight, that he could see it now, the IV hanging above her alarming him even more. "Hey," he said awkwardly, "how're you doing?" His hand moved up a bit, gesturing to the dangling bag above her.
How the hell was she supposed to answer that? She stared right back at him, and in a voice still tight with feeling, said, "I'm OK, Dad." The last word was choked out. Her face twisted, and there were tears.
She was anything but.
Charlie wanted nothing more than to pull her into a hug, and was half poised to take a step towards her when he caught a glance of Edward's face.
It was almost feral. His eyes were wide, nostrils flared, and if he didn't know better, the boy looked like he was snarling at him.
Charlie put the box down on the coffee table, sitting opposite to them, as far away from Edward as the couch he was on would allow.
His own voice shook with emotion when he spoke. "I owe you so many apologies that I don't even have words for, Bella. I'm so sorry."
Bella nodded, looking at him, her own jaw tight.
Edward made himself be quiet, trying to arrange the features of his face to resemble an acceptably human shape.
Charlie wanted to finish with apologizing, but his anxiety was riding over everything else. "Bella, you gettin' the help you need?" He was looking anxiously at the IV, and her face, pale and too thin.
"I am," she managed. She wiped her casted hand awkwardly at her eyes.
Was she? He thought. Had she seen a counsellor? Was Carlisle being careful? Thorough? Clearly, she wasn't eating or drinking enough.
He thought about his last addition to the box of supplies. He'd stopped at the store, picking up a box of those God-awful pop tarts she liked. At least, he thought, eyes skimming over the food on the coffee table, they were offering her healthier fare.
"I don't want to make excuses for what I've done, Bella. I know I hurt you. I should've believed you, when you told me Jacob'd hurt you, and I should never've made you go see him. I was...totally blinded by my own prejudices." Then he turned to Edward, "and I owe you an apology too, Edward. For thinking what I did. It's clear," and he cleared his throat, struggling even now with these words, "that you have her best interests at heart."
Edward could hear the sincerity, painful and begrudging as it was. He nodded, acknowledging, but not accepting, Charlie's apology.
Bella was struggling to form her own words. The hurt that lodged in her chest made the air hard to take in, and then let out. "How could you—," she started, and then stopped. "I get," she said, "that you didn't believe me, about Jacob. I could barely believe it myself, but—" she paused again, lungs reaching for enough air.
Edward moved his hand to her back, trying to rub it gently, trying to soothe her.
When the words were finally born, they were slippery with tears, "how could you shove me in your squad car, Dad? It's one thing to doubt me. It's...how could you do that?"
Bella's distress was his own, and he nodded, listening, trying to put words together for an answer.
"You would NEVER do that to someone who made a complaint, Dad, never." Her anger had slipped in over her grief, and she was shaking now.
He went to open his mouth, but she interrupted him again. "Then you took me when I was safe, and you put me right back where he could get to me again—" Her voice disappeared into a high pitch she couldn't hold. She shook her head, as if trying to shake off the feeling.
Charlie waited, watching her, swallowing. The words, 'where he could get to me again' held a chilling significance, that made his face feel cold, and his heart stutter.
When she said nothing for a bit, he spoke again. "I'll answer, if you want, or you can just yell at me for a bit too, if you need to," he said.
"Sorry," Bella mumbled.
Edward put his hand over hers again. "You have nothing to be sorry for," he said, looking darkly at Charlie.
"You don't," Charlie agreed, his face still numb.
Had Jacob hurt her again? Because of what he did?
He thought of the marks he'd found when he took her from the Cullens. He'd blamed Edward—been livid with anger at the fresh damage. His own culpability was screwing itself into his stomach, hunkering down for a long stay.
When it became clear she was waiting for his answer, Charlie started. "Been a cop for a long time, Bella. Never done what I did to you, to someone who made a complaint. Never would. But," and he sighed. "When you're a parent—it's different," he stopped, flustered by the inadequacy of his explanation. "I love you, Bella, more than I can possibly express, and I was terrified when I saw someone was hurting you. I mean, I'm the sheriff, and my own daughter—", he paused again, hands dropping back into his lap. "I failed, and then when I thought you were defending the man who was hurting you," he shook his head, "I lost my head. I blew it. Completely."
Bella nodded, listening, breathing still strained with emotion, wanting him to continue.
"After you took off last year, because of what happened—between you," he said, trying not to let his familiar repugnance for Edward surface, "and the Fall, and then this Spring," he blew a breath out.
Edward flinched, seeing with unusual clarity, what Charlie recalled of Bella in those months he'd been away.
"After all that, I couldn't let something like that happen again. I couldn't lose you again to that black hole—or worse."
The familiar stab of guilt made Edward's face shift noticeably.
Good, Charlie thought. He should feel guilty for the Hell he put her through.
Of course, the little voice wheedled, because you have so much high ground to stand on there.
"I'm so sorry I did worse," Charlie said, now twisting his hands together, trying to dispel the nervous energy he felt. "I don't expect this to make us OK, Bella, but I wanted to apologize. You deserve at least that."
He looked at Bella, waiting for some response, ducking his head down, seeing the pained look on her face.
"Thank you," she said, a soft whisper. It wasn't forgiveness, but it was a beginning.
They all sat in an uncomfortable silence after that, before Charlie cleared his throat. He put his hand on the box, "Brought you some of your things. Thought you might want," he mumbled, sliding it an inch towards her.
Edward could hear Bella's throat closing up with emotion again.
"Thank you, Charlie," Edward said, his voice gentle for Bella.
"If there's anything else you want, I can bring it by another time, or someone else can pick it up, if you prefer," Charlie finished, wondering if he would be welcome again.
Then he steeled himself for his next statement, and Edward flicked his eyes up at him in nervous anticipation.
"I want you to make a complaint, Bella," he said softly.
She looked away from the box she'd been staring at. "What?" she asked.
"I want you to make a formal complaint," he said again. He wasn't sure how much she knew, and wasn't sure if he wanted to be the one to tell her. If she wanted him to be the one to tell her that Jacob had run off. "I can't do anything to Jacob without a complaining witness. And I'll be honest, there's not much I can do, considering how much time has passed, but I can do something."
Bella stared at him, and then looked at Edward. He gave a tiny shrug. What did it matter, if Charlie pursued him? It wasn't like he would find anything, but it would offer him a way to redeem himself, at least in his own eyes. "What do you want to do, Bella?" Edward asked softly. "It's your choice."
Then she looked back at her father, her gaze slipping over the box of things in front of her. She'd noticed the poptarts. Knew they hadn't been in the cupboards at home. He hated that she ate them, but he'd still gone and bought them anyway. Her favourite sweater was under them. All tokens of good will.
"OK," she said, surprising Edward, who looked sideways at her, "but not right now."
"Of course not," Charlie said, equally surprised. "Sooner," he said, "would be better. Tomorrow, if you can."
Bella nodded. She had a good idea of what such a complaint would entail, and swallowed, suddenly not so sure she wanted to make it.
"Only if you want to, Bella," Charlie said.
He could read her body language well enough, see the strain and exhaustion on her face. "You're tired," he said, standing, "I'll go."
Edward had stood when Charlie did, and when his father-in-law stepped to bring himself closer to Bella, Edward didn't exactly block his way, but moved into his path, looking down at Bella.
"It's OK," she said softly to him, and he moved aside, not breaking the contact of their hands.
Charlie knelt on one leg, the other awkwardly squatting, as he brought himself eye level with his daughter, reaching for her other hand. "I love you," he said, "always will. Even when I screw up."
There were too many tears for her to say anything, so Bella just nodded, mouthing back the breathy "bye" she could give voice to.
Carlisle had emerged from the kitchen, meeting Charlie on his way to the door.
"I overheard the last part," Carlisle said softly, catching Charlie's nod. "You think it's wise, putting her through that?"
Charlie stared at him, murmuring, "You think I should let a rapist run loose?"
Keeping his voice low, so Bella wouldn't hear, Carlisle said, "you know there's barely a chance of a case."
Charlie's face was cold now. "I don't plan on this ending in front of a judge, Carlisle. I just need a legal excuse to go after him with everything I've got."
Carlisle's eyebrows rose in surprise. "She deserves to know that."
"I'll explain it when she comes in." His voice was grim. He meant business.
In the livingroom, Edward listened, a small and begrudging respect growing for Charlie Swan. For a man of the law, he had a usefully elastic definition of justice.
