Edward had caught Bella staring at the calendar hanging on the kitchen wall. He couldn't tell the precise location of her gaze, but he had a pretty good guess.

It had been precisely a month since the attack.

She was standing, breakfast dishes ready for the dishwasher, engaged in some silent calculation he was not privy to.

"Oh," she said, when he took the dishes from her hands, "I can—"

"I know," he said, putting them in the machine.

They looked lonely there, and he frowned, thinking of the larger significance.

"Want to go out for dinner tonight?" he asked, taking his time turning around, giving her space to consider it.

That got her attention, and she flicked her eyes to the dishwasher, and then to his gaze, now meeting hers.

"Worried I'm turning into a hermit?"

For a woman who couldn't read thoughts, she was remarkably perceptive.

"Want to make sure you aren't," he said, taking her hand, grinning a little.

"Lots of people here," she reminded him, playing with his hands, swinging them back and forth.

"Lots of vampires here," he countered, raising his eyebrows, and glancing back at the dishwasher.

"Yes, including the one who counts most to me. I'm good. No going out required." She leaned in and kissed him lightly on the lips.

From a distance, Rosalie's "good!" sounded musical. "Because we have training in ten minutes."

Edward wanted to roll his eyes. But didn't.

Rose hadn't so much been pushing, as taking a sledge hammer to any boundaries she sensed with Bella.

The latest one had been Emmett.

When Rose had called him over one day to help, Bella had frozen in place, staring at him.

"He would never hurt you, Bella," Rose had reminded her. "You know that, right?" She'd tapped her head to illustrate where she wanted Bella's thinking coming from.

"Sure," Bella'd said, making herself not step back in fear. "I also know Edward wouldn't hurt me. That hasn't exactly made everything go away."

Emmett had raised an eyebrow at Bella, nodding, conceding her point.

But Rose had been clear: "next time, you try with Emmett. Don't just confront that wall, knock it down."

The idea of confronting an Emmett sized wall didn't sit very well with Bella, and her stomach burbled nervously.

"You don't have to," Edward reminded her, "Rose is trying to do right by you, but that doesn't mean she's right."

Bella squished her eyebrows together, considering it, but came out with a resolute, "No. It helps. It's hard, but it helps."

Tentatively—always tentatively—he slid his hands up her forearms, taking note of where the knife was today. She'd not found the optimal spot yet, and their positions shifted with the training. The one near her shoulder made him the most nervous. It was too easy to imagine the trigger malfunctioning—improbable, he knew, but easy to imagine.

The weather had bettered itself, and so they went outside to the north side of the property, where the morning sun shone least. Bella had had her fair share of being dazzled—literally—by Rose's exposed flesh, and training was hard enough without the added visual impediment.

They'd practised various grips, positions and scenarios, rotating through them regularly. Today, they were back to the attacks that proved most difficult: those that came from the front.

The family had chipped in with all manner of suggestions for things that would catch an attacker off guard. Emmett, watching from the sidelines, tried to be helpful, throwing these out—often wedged between a joke or two. He was doing that today, and Bella was struggling to focus.

An hour in, she was getting flustered, and Rose's sudden grip at her forearms made her startle fully.

All her collected frustrations seemed to coagulate, solidifying into a nice ball of rage.

"C'mon Bella, you can do better!" Rose chided her.

So Bella did.

As she threw her head forward, Edward gasped, thinking she was trying to head butt Rosalie, terrified visions of brain damage making him jump into a sprint towards them before Bella's head—

But the resulting crack didn't come.

Bella's lips landed silently on Rose's in a well planted kiss.

Edward stopped.

Emmett's jaw fell open.

After a startled moment, Rose was gone.

Vanished.

So, suddenly, was Emmett.

Edward doubled over in laughter, letting himself sit, and then lay down, the sound of it rocking his body in rippling waves.

Bella walked over, a wide grin on her face, and cleared her throat. "Care to let me in on the joke?"

Edward wondered if he'd be crying if he was still human.

"I'm so glad I'm never going to forget that. I just wish you could have heard—"

Then he stopped himself. No, he wasn't sure he wanted her to know what all their thoughts had been.

His wife raised her eyebrows expectantly, face upside down as she looked over him.

"That was amazing," he finished, instead.

"And it worked," Bella smiled. "Emmett's not going anywhere near me."

No, Edward thought. Emmett wasn't. He was going near his own wife. Somewhere private. For a good long while.

He said nothing about it, standing, taking her hands. "No," he said, "he isn't. Good work."

"Unexpected," she said, grinning widely, tapping her head. "Sadly, I think I'll need to face the music soon enough."

Edward's face fell only momentarily, he scooping it back up, realizing she meant avoiding practising with Emmett.

Seeing it, her own smile melted. "What?" she asked, suddenly nervous.

"Nothing," he said, trying to smile apologetically. "I'm told I'm a bit paranoid sometimes. Especially about you."

Her forehead crinkled in confusion.

"I thought you were saying you wanted to face your attacker," Edward said quietly. "Face Jacob."

"Oh," she said, trying to make her blood stay put. It was stubbornly trying sink to her feet.

His hands were in hers now, "that won't happen, Bella. I meant it, when I said that you wouldn't face him again. We will dispose of him."

She nodded, breakfast wobbling in her stomach. "I know."

He'd told her as soon as she was well enough to hear it, and she'd gone a grey ashy colour, nodding then too, accepting Jacob's fate.

That grief was buried too deeply under all the other wreckage he'd caused.

"I just meant Emmett," she said, voice small, a corner of her lip lifting upwards.

His smile returned. "Good work," he said, and then dared to kiss her in a way that was most definitely meant for the woman he loved.

"So," he said, "now that you've chased your training session away, what's next?"

He thought he saw a spark of something. "The meadow?" she asked.

"The meadow," he nodded, tugging at her hand to take her inside to get ready.

They spent the better part of the day there, enjoying its warmth and beauty, exchanging and making happy memories, along with small touches, and soft kisses.

When they came home, Bella looked at the fading light with a sigh. "Thank you," she said, "that was exactly what I needed today."

"Good," he said, and, his smile widening, asked, "you up for a little bit more time outside?"

"Sure?" she said, a little uncertainly.

"Give me a few minutes then." He didn't wait for a reply, and was gone, leaving Bella bewildered.

When he returned a little while after, it was with an uncharacteristic smudge of dirt on the knee of his trousers.

It made him look...human.

He a bag of marshmallows in one hand, and her light jacket in another.

He raised an eyebrow, holding the marshmallows out in front of him.

"Am I supposed to guess?" she asked.

"I don't think it will take too many," he said.

"You want to toast marshmallows?"

He nodded.

When she still stared, a wrinkled wedge in her forehead, he said, "you did tell me you liked doing that."

"When I was ten, yeah," Bella said, laughing a little.

He grinned. "That sounds like a yes to me."

She rolled her eyes just a little, slipping her shoes and coat on, and followed him out the door, one of his hands in hers.

They settled close to the river in one of the wide gravel patches, conveniently circled by larger rocks that made for good perching. She realized he'd moved some of them to make this space. Settling onto one of the flatter ones, she watched him build and start a tidy fire.

"Boy scout much?"

"Good to have such skills," he countered, then frowned, looking at the bag of marshmallows.

"Sticks," Bella said, seeing his confusion.

"But they'll burn," he said, lips still pouting, contemplating this.

It was novel to be able to explain something to him. "You don't stick them in the fire, you hold them over it. Otherwise, yes, they burn."

She demonstrated, hissing a bit at the heat when she tried pull off the outer layer of the marshmallow.

He gripped her fingers, cooling them in his own, blowing a cold breath onto the sticky tips.

"It's fine," she said, going back to the marshmallow, giving a satisfied, "mmm," swallowing the caramelized sugar. "Best part," she said through her mouthful.

She repeated this process, still flicking her fingers up and down from the heat's sting.

He pulled the next layer off, not wanting her to burn herself, holding it up for her to eat.

She licked his fingers, sucking the sugar off of them one by one, and he raised a playful eyebrow. Then she put her stick down, and slid onto his lap, continuing the action of her lips, but over his.

She smelled of her own sweetness—of fire, of sugar curled up into itself—and of want.

He allowed his hands to slide down her back, and find a comfortable resting place below her hips, massaging the flesh there, then trailing down her outer thighs, repeating the movement.

She had maneuvered her own hands up under his shirt, letting her fingers admire the distinct curves of his chest, and its hard velvet. He was aroused, and it pleased her that this elicited no fear, or worry, just a fuelling of her own desire.

"You smell like fire and smoke," he said softly, kissing her behind her ear. "I like it."

Bella chuckled. "You do too," she said, "but I prefer your real smell."

"Well then," he said, "let's go fix that," and picked her up, moving at a decidedly unhurried pace, his lips still involved with hers, towards the house.

"The fire," Bella murmured, worried about leaving it.

"Someone will take care of it," he mumbled back, not stopping his kisses.

Emmett muttered, with a snicker, "I'll handle that one, you go douse the other one in the shower."

Edward smiled, knowing Bella hadn't heard the comment, and hearing his family making their subtle exits from the house.

Privacy here was a gift, and not one to go uncherished.

Then his features pinched together, hearing other, more pointed thoughts meant for him.

Carlisle's were filled with gentle confidence, you love her, you'll be fine, and so will she. I have every confidence in you both.

Esme's were just a wordless happiness.

Alice was glad she couldn't see anything, for once.

And Emmett, he was repeating 'go team!' good naturedly, with a quiet chuckle.

Rosalie was thinking something far more disparate, and unsettling.

If she can't talk, she's either having a flashback or an orgasm—don't get the two confused.

"What?" Bella asked, watching his face transform.

"Nothing," he said. They'd reached the bathroom, and there wasn't a lot of space for talk.

His fingers and hers were busy, unlocking buttons and zippers and inhibitions.

It was a wonder to feel the absence of clothing, to be so lost in herself that the fear quivered in the periphery, unwelcome and unwanted.

He pulled her into the shower with him, trying not to think of the last time he'd done so.

She stayed facing him, kept at a small distance by what protruded between them. Pulling the shampoo from the nook, she lathered his hair, and he repeated the gesture, letting the bubbles slide down them, following these trails with their hands.

When he felt her fingertips beginning to prune, he raised his hand to tap, lifting his eyebrows, questioning. She nodded, hands and lips too intent on him to care where they were, as long as they were together.

She giggled when he towelled her off, faster than human hands could possibly accomplish, and more when he blew a raspberry on her belly. The laughter become a pleasured gasp when his lips turned to kisses, these worshipping the soft skin between her navel and the flurry of hair below it.

Then he stood, and picked her up, carrying her to the bed, returning his kisses to more traditional territory.

She'd explained what Carlisle had told her, but it was still a shock when he reached into the drawer by the bed, and pulled out a condom.

"Just being careful," he said, "it doesn't mean anything."

It doesn't mean anything, Bella thought.

It just means we might have sex.

Maybe.

Her heart rate doubled.

Then he kissed her again, and lying on his side, pressed the condom into her hand.

She turned to him, flushing a beautiful shade of magenta. She hadn't touched him, and had only shyly glanced in that direction on their wedding night.

He was brushing her inflamed cheeks with his fingers, softly moving her hair from her face. "Still so shy, Mrs. Cullen?"

The blush deepened impossibly.

He took the package from her, opening it, "touch me, Bella," he whispered, and kissed her.

She did, with nervous fingers, which he covered with his own, stilling the small tremor, still kissing her, hiding his own reaction. The touch of her heat left him airless. He felt like he was almost beyond himself by the time the condom was on.

Then he moved his hand to touch her as intimately, and her knuckles were tight and white over his wrist. He moved it back to her hip, taking her other hand, putting it over his, whispering "show me where it's OK."

So, with his hand under her guidance, she returned his hand to her torso, releasing it to explore the soft shapes it presented.

"So beautiful," he whispered, his fingers finding hers again, kissing them.

"Can I touch you?" he asked, putting his hand back under hers.

She nodded, and guided his hand there, gentle and cold, making her breathe in sharply.

It felt good.

So surprisingly good.

She let go of his hand, trusting him.

She was trying not to think about how different it was from what Jacob had done.

His touch was delicate, featherlight.

Exquisite.

He found, with tender alacrity, the small point of nerves there and teased it with the mere suggestion of his presence.

It felt like much more than a suggestion to Bella, who fought for breath, hands forgetting themselves, gripping at his shoulders, then his chest.

He smiled.

Then she touched him, and his hands flew away from her, reaching for the safety of his head, trying to stay in control.

"You OK?" she asked, alarmed by the sudden movement, the absence of his touch.

"Oh yes," he breathed out. "Very." Her hands safely away from his sensitive flesh, he returned his to hers, "but maybe warn me," he breathed, "I don't want to hurt you by accident."

"You won't," she said, kissing him.

He was terrified of that very possibility, but held it tightly to himself, knowing that she had known enough fear. He wouldn't bring more of it to their bed.

"No," he said, hoping to will it so, "I won't."

Because he couldn't live with himself if he did.

He turned her, sliding her leg over his, bringing her very tender flesh to touch his own.

She began to tremble.

"It's OK," he murmured, "nothing happens unless you say so." He kissed her, and very carefully moved his hands to her back, her sides, her breasts, slow enough that she could stop him, if she wanted.

She didn't.

The way their bodies were oriented, this movement pressed him to her, and she tensed.

"Nothing," he said again, "unless you ask." Then he grinned, "and nothing without the magic word to go with it, too."

She giggled, breaking all the tension between them.

She liked how it felt, both their bodies rocked by this small laughter.

He thought she was beautiful, but all she could do was admire the perfect lines before her, running in their cold shapes from the disordered and beautiful tangle of his hair, to the more minutely curled wisps at his groin.

"Yes," she said, "I want you."

This was not what he was expecting to hear.

At all.

His hands felt strangely numb, and he kept them away from her, just hovering, until he was certain of himself again.

"Magic word," he chuckled, pressing his lips to her neck.

"Please," she said, letting a low rumble of laughter jostle her again.

"In a bit," he promised her, feeling the nerves in her body, the want and the anxiety all tied up together.

She welcomed the touch of his hand again, soft still, but one that gently explored and teased at this sensitive flesh.

Edward was fending off his own wants and desires, so stirred by her reaction to him. The sounds she was making tugged at these wants, and he didn't make her wait long, sliding her form closer to his. He lifted her lightly, angling her hips to match his own, pressing himself just inside, commanding his body to obey, to not follow the compulsion to find the ends of these depths.

Their kisses hadn't stopped, but they did now, Bella's hands suddenly tight at his shoulders, her heartbeat galloping in her chest.

"Bella," he asked, "do you need me to stop?"

She was trying to breathe normally, to remember where she was, to not think about what Jacob had done.

And she was failing miserably at all three.

She didn't answer.

Edward pulled away, a panicked concern erasing all his body's virile notions.

"Bella?"

Still no answer.

He sat up and flipped the comforter over her, lifting her up into his lap. "Hey," he said, "you're here, with me, remember?"

She nodded, still not speaking.

When she did, it was to whisper, "I'm sorry, I really thought—"

"Oh no," he interrupted, "no way. I'm so happy we had what we did tonight. No apologizing for that."

She pressed her hand to his cheek, her own wet with tears, "I want to, I just—"

"No apologizing," he said, shaking his head. "I love you." Then he leaned in to kiss her again, smoothing the tears from her cheeks with his fingers.

"I like what we did," she said shyly.

"Good," Edward said, "because I did too."