Now I'm reading Age of Consent, by littlesecret84… I've always had a thing for older men, myself.

--

APOV

"Qué son estos?" Isabella was holding up a pair of pants like she'd never seen one before. Well, if it was 1697 in her head, she probably did not expect to have to wear them.

"Son pantalones," I explained to her what they were. She looked askance at them; they were kind of worn and frayed, especially on the bottom where the ends dragged on the floor. But they were technically her own clothes.

"No puedo usar esto. Sería inaceptable. Los caballeros usan pantalones. Las damas de educación siempre portan vestidos." Isabella shook her head and laid them back on the chair, crossing her arms over her stomach.

I didn't quite know what to say to that. She was claiming that to wear pants would be unacceptable, since only gentlemen wore them and ladies of good breeding always wore dresses. "Uh, okay…"

Despite Edward's ranting, I could see no guile or malice in Isabella's claims that she was from another time. I mean, I was here, helping her, talking to her, since no one else seemed to speak a lot of Spanish. The nurses had been completely perplexed, but thankfully Isabella's stay had not been for long. Now we had to get her out of the hospital and figure out how to bring this Bella girl back. And in order to do that, first I had to get her some clothes. Okay… let's find a dress.

I whipped out my cell and scrolled down my contact list until I found Rosalie's number. I glanced reassuringly at Isabella while she sat on the edge of the bed; she was eyeing the tiny silver phone in suspicion. I sighed—I did not have time to explain 2009 contraptions now.

"Alice?" Rose's voice came on the line.

"Hey, Rose, I need you to do me a favor."

"Um, sure, what can I do for you?" I heard her telling Emmett that it was me calling, and heard her husband boom out a very eloquent, Wassup girl? I rolled my eyes and grinned.

"Well, I'm at the hospital helping a friend get dressed, 'cause she's just been released, but we sort of need a dress. Do you think we could borrow one? I didn't think to bring one, and I can't leave her alone right now."

"A dress? Sure, I guess I can do that… what room are you in?"

I gave Rose the details and suddenly thought of something else. "Oh, and Rosalie? Please make sure that the dress is long, like ankle-length, okay?" If Isabella had balked at the idea of pants, she certainly wouldn't wear a short dress either. 1697, remember?

"I'll see what I can scrounge up. See you in a few." I snapped the phone shut and turned to look at Isabella. She was entranced with the light switch that controlled the lamps right above her bed. This was so weird.

I remembered last night after Jasper had left us; he had tried to glean more information Isabella, but to no avail. I'd gone to the house while he was here, to freshen up and pack a small bag with stuff I needed to stay overnight with the girl. Edward had already settled in, watching House reruns on TV. When I got back to the hospital, and made up the uncomfortable couch provided for the patient's family members, I turned off the lights. When I did, Isabella let out the most blood-curdling scream, like she had in the beginning.

I turned them back on in a hurry, my heart slamming into my chest. "What? What's wrong?" Then I remembered, and switched languages. "Qué pasa? Qué tienes?"

"La luz! A dónde se fue? Todo obscureció de repente…" And then I got it. She freaked when the lights went off all of a sudden. I spent an hour convincing her that it was entirely possible to control electric lights with the simple push of a button. I think that was the most surreal conversation I've ever had.

I told Isabella that a friend was coming over with more appropriate clothing for her. She nodded and went back to examining the cables and switches on the wall. At least the IV had come out of her hand—boy, had that been an experience.

I rummaged through Isabella's messenger bag, which I had found stashed in some cupboard doors in the room. There was a change of clothes, including some stockings, a black skirt, and a deep blue blouse. The skirt was modestly short, so I don't know what she was going on about. There was also a pair of beat-up chucks, and a pretty leather-bound notebook. I felt too much like an intruder, so I didn't rifle through its pages even though I really wanted to.

"Alice?" A soft knock came from the other side of the door. I walked over and pulled it open to find Rosalie standing there.

"Hey, Rose. Thanks for coming so fast." I stepped back to let her in. She glanced around and her eyes settled on Isabella.

"Oh, hi, sorry to intrude. I'm Rosalie," she said, waving half-heartedly. Isabella ignored Rose, having moved on to examine the pulley mechanism on the window blinds.

"Yeah, um, Rose? She doesn't speak English. Did you bring the dress?"

"Here you go." She handed me a shopping bag and I peeked in. Totally not Rosalie's style. It was a flower-print Laura Ashley casual dress. I pulled it out; it would be huge on Isabella, but at least she couldn't complain about the length. It would more than cover her ankles.

"Where did this dress come from? I know you didn't buy it for yourself." I walked over to Isabella as Rose settled into the uncomfortable turquoise couch. I tapped her on the shoulder, and held up the dress. She turned it over in her hands, tracing the flower pattern on the fabric. Finally, she shrugged, and extended her arms. Isabella made no move to remove the flimsy hospital robe herself. I sighed, and tugged at the strings holding the robe shut.

"I spilled wine on my outfit once at a dinner party at Esme's. She let me borrow that dress so I wouldn't spend the evening wet and uncomfortable." Rosalie glanced up as I removed Isabella's robe. "Oh, shit, I'm sorry, should I leave?" Rose stood up and turned her back on us.

"That's alright. She seriously cannot understand a word we say." I had found a lacy bra in the messenger bag and pulled the straps over the girl's arms. I fastened the back, and watched as her eyes nearly bugged out at the sight.

"Did she just have a baby or something? Who is she?"

"Um, she's actually Jasper's patient… she had a little break down after a consult. Her name is Isabella." I drew the flowered dress over her head and managed to get her arms through the sleeves. It dragged three inches on the ground, but that was the best I could do.

"No English, huh?" Rose peeked over her shoulder, saw that Isabella was dressed now. She plunked herself down on the couch again. "Where is she from?"

"She's American, Rose. But right now, she can only speak Spanish." I presented Isabella with the option of wearing the chucks or the hospital slippers. "Cuáles prefieres?" The look on her face was priceless as she gawked at the Converse.

"Spanish? Ha, so you finally told Jazz about your little stint in Cancún?" Rose snorted. She should know, she was there with me. We had spent a whole summer on the beach, chatting up gorgeous Mexican boys. I'd picked up the language pretty fast and fluently, though Rose had not bothered. And right now, Jasper was so worried about what had happened to Isabella that he hadn't asked as many questions, or seemed to care why I spoke Spanish so long as I did.

"Edward sort of spilled the beans. But that is really the least of Jazz's problems right now." I looked about the room, making sure nothing was left behind. I grabbed Isabella's bag and took her hand gently in mine. "Es todo por ahora. Nos podemos ir. Recuerdas a dónde te dije que iríamos?" Do you remember where we're going now?

"Habías dicho que por el momento, viviría contigo. Cómo dices que se llama esta ciudad?"

"Phoenix." I repeated it phonetically for her. At least she did remember the part about living with us for now. Rose glanced at us quizzically, but I shook my head. Much too complicated to explain right now. I poked my head out of the room—shit. The halls were packed. I didn't think she'd react too well to all the people milling about. Thanks to Jasper, all the paperwork had been taken care of, but I still had to get her home. And 1697 would definitely not react well to the outside world of 2009.

"Okay, Rose? I promise to explain as soon as I can what's going on. In the meantime, do you think you could grab her other hand and help me walk her out?" I could already sense resistance in Isabella's body. She held a nervous stance, almost digging her slipper-clad feet into the linoleum.

"Sure," she hesitated. As she took Isabella's hand, the girl recoiled. I tried to soothe her.

"Isabella? Ella es mi amiga. Se llama Rosalie. Está aquí para ayudarte, de acuerdo?" I told her Rose was a friend, here to help.

"I just heard my name in all that. Good to see you didn't forget Mexico." Rosalie stepped out into the hallway, almost dragging us with her. I could tell her patience was kind of short today, and would take little bullshit from this strange girl who did not—or would not—speak English. I followed, my hands on Isabella's body, whispering reassuring words to her.

I tried for a second to put myself in her shoes. If I were really 400 years old, and got dumped into the future world, full of technology and people and speed… I could almost flinch at the way people jogged around us, bumping into us. The noise from the PA system, the gurneys, and—shit, the elevators.

We reached the bank, and thankfully an empty one opened right before us. I chanced a glance at Isabella's face. It was beyond horrified. Her eyes were wide and uncomprehending. I pushed her gently inside. She had both Rose and me in a death grip. Her short nails were digging painfully into my arm. I caught Rosalie's eye and she rolled hers at me.

As the elevator suddenly dropped and began its descent, Isabella let out a tiny squeak. "Qué es esta caja? Por qué se mueve?"

"What's she saying?" Rose asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

"She… she's asking what this box is, and why is it moving." The last part came out as a question and Rose almost choked.

"Seriously? She called the elevator a box? Jesus, is she for real?" I could tell Rosalie wanted to drop Isabella's hand and get as far away from her as possible.

"I told you, it's a long story. I'll explain later." I turned to Isabella. "Se llama elevador. Sirve para subir y bajar grandes distancias." Again with the surreal conversations; I couldn't believe I was explaining how an elevator works to an adult woman.

We went all the way down to the parking garage. She barely had a chance to glance at the elevator doors close behind us—on their own!—before Rose was pulling her towards my yellow Porsche.

"Where's your car?" I tried to glimpse her flashy red BMW, but it was nowhere in sight. "On another level? I can drive you to it." We stood next to my car and Isabella was trying to look at her reflection on the tinted windows. I tugged on her hands and got her to look at me. I shook my head at her.

"Emmett gave me a ride. He was headed to the restaurant to check some stuff out. I can just go back to your place…" she trailed off. She was now openly staring at Isabella. Recognition suddenly flashed in her eyes. "Wait, wait! I know this girl! I hired her! She works at Maison! I interviewed her myself!"

"Yeah, Jasper mentioned that. I didn't know you had seen her personally, though."

"Well, she spoke English then! What the fuck, Alice? I'm still waiting on that explanation."

"Fine," I huffed. "Give me a second." I rooted in my purse for the keys, and Isabella jumped back with a little scream as the car beeped.

"Dear God." Rosalie yanked open the back door and looked at me. "How are we going to get her in?"

"Let's strap her in." I gestured for Isabella to get inside. I smiled encouragingly as she approached the Porsche, running her hands on the glossy finish. Finally, she ducked her head and sat on the smooth leather seat.

"Qué es esto?"

"Es un carro—"

"Carro? Entonces dónde están los caballos?"

"Okay, what the hell is this about? I really don't like being left out of the loop here."

"She's asking about horses. I told her this was a car, but in Spanish, it can also mean like a carriage."

"Horses? You mean horsepower, right?"

"Nooo… I mean actual horses. Shit, Rose, I think Jasper would do a better job explaining. It's complicated, I told you." I bent at the knees, peering into the car's interior. Isabella was looking between Rose and me as though it were a tennis match. Her face was still clueless.

I sighed. "Es un automóvil. Es una especie de carro que utiliza una fuente de energía que lo hace moverse por si solo, a grandes velocidades." A car; it uses an energy source that makes it move by itself at great speeds. That was a pretty succinct explanation for a car, right?

I leaned over her and buckled her seatbelt. Rose and I slid in front. I started the car; I loved my little Porsche. I loved the engine's roar as it fired up and got warmed up…

I circled the parking lot, looking for the exit. I couldn't have been going more than 20 miles per hour. I hit the toll booth and fished the ticket out of my bag. I handed it to the booth attendant and smiled in thanks. I looked to my left as I left the hospital parking garage. The engine purred as I sped up.

"Um, Alice?" Rose asked worriedly.

"Yeah?" I looked at her for a moment.

"Homegirl looks like she's going to shit herself."

"Oh, fuck." I glanced at the rearview mirror and caught Isabella's reflection. She looked absolutely terrified. I gazed on and off at her as I quickly found my way onto the highway and sped up. The flow of traffic did not allow me to slow down at all, so I had no choice but to keep up with the speed. A huge trailer rig sidled up next to the Porsche by Isabella's window. Once the girl turned at the noise of the huge engine, she began screaming. I mean full, blown-out screams. She looked wildly about and finally noticed the cars that hurtled past us. Her screams did not let up.

"Whoa, Alice, we have to calm her down!"

"Isabella! Isabella! No pasa nada, todo está bien! Escúchame! Está bien!" I was trying to both look at her and keep my eyes on the road at the same time, but it wasn't really working. Rose started repeating my Spanish words, with a terrible pronounciation, but at least she could turn completely in her seat and try to calm Isabella directly.

"Shit, shit, shit!" I signaled and flipped on my blinkers. I swerved to avoid a Sentra and finally exited the highway. I could take the speed down and finally pulled over.

"Okay, okay, we're done, see? It's okay! Ya no nos estamos moviendo!" I tried to tell her we were no longer moving, but she was still gasping and her breath was hitching. That's when I noticed the red mark on her cheek. I turned to Rosalie, shock and anger mingling equally.

"Oh, come on, Alice. She was hysterical. She totally stopped screaming." Rosalie shrugged. I shook my head, pulling my hand over my face. Smacking the delusional Spanish princess might not seem completely kosher, but that had Rosalie written all over it.

"Estás bien? Te lastimó demasiado?" I asked Isabella if she was alright, if Rosalie had hurt her much. The girl shook her head, but placed her palm on the stinging red slap. I hadn't been on the receiving end of one of those, but I could imagine.

"Now what?" Rose asked, peering at the distraught Isabella, the tears barely drying on her face.

An idea suddenly occurred to me. I pulled the light decorative scarf from my neck and held it speculatively up to Rosalie. She shrugged and nodded. I leaned over my seat and gestured for Isabella to move closer. I lifted my hands up and showed her the scarf.

"Te voy a vendar los ojos. Así no tendrás miedo. Todo va a estar bien, no te preocupes." She nodded and hiccoughed as she wiped her eyes clean. Isabella closed her eyes as the smooth silk of the scarf touched her face. I knotted it behind the crown of her head and made her sit back into the seat. She was still buckled in, her breathing calming down. Thank God.

I started the car again, trying really hard not to gun the engine. I made it back on the highway, driving at an insanely slow speed. I ignored the honking behind us, and gave some of the rudest drivers the finger, which Rosalie was only to happy to do as well.

"Alice…" she said finally, as we rounded on the driveway to my house.

"Yeah, Rose?"

"What the fuck is going on with this girl?"

"That's what we're trying to figure out."

--

I almost scrapped this. Tell me if it's all over the place or if it needs tweaking. I might pull it and rewrite, but I need some input. R&R pretty please?