edward and bella meet in a theater 101 class at UW. for Edward it's an elective meeting his language arts requirement for his molecular biology/premed degree; and for bella it's the same for her psych degree she chose it b/c it's supposed to be book-learning only, not a performance class, but a new prof fills in and changes it to reading aloud/memorizing/reciting – in groups, as mini-performances but without props or costumes - for the class and for exams. he breaks them up into groups the first class and has them read from ? The Dollhouse? Romeo and Juliet? whatever it is, Edward is reading a dominant male lead to Bella's female lead, and she is speechless. stares at him as he stares at her, her body quaking; finally she gets up and runs away, out of the auditorium where the class is held. Edward fights back the urge to run after her; laughs it off but is disturbed and worried about this nameless girl. goes to lunch with the usual suspects, then heads to registrar's office to switch orgo labs. who's there in line ahead of him, about to drop theater? bella of course. he comes up behind her, says "Hey, Juliet," in a throaty whisper right in her ear. she jumps and shrieks, turning and crashing into him. he steadies her with his hands at her arms. her eyes are filling, her body shaking, shame washing over her; she doesn't hear a word he says. finally he leads her firmly by the hand out of the office and to a bench in the hallway outside, where he makes her sit and then slides in next to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her into his side. when his arm comes heavily on her shoulders, giving her the opportunity to hide her face in his chest, she takes it, and they sit like that for some time, Edward holding on firmly still to her hand, rubbing circles in her palm. after she is still, Edward reaches for the paper schedule held tightly in her other hand and gently frees it from her grasp. she relinquishes it finally, dropping her hand to her lap and turning her face more firmly into his chest. he reads it over, stroking her hair, and leaning down every so often to place a gentle kiss on the top of her head. after studying her schedule, he says, with humor in his voice, "so may I presume that you are here to drop theater?" she nods into his chest. then let me make a suggestion, sweetheart. let me work out a compromise with professor Berty; if he's willing to pair you with me for every assignment and recital, will you be willing to keep the class? part of her wants to scream "no!", but she can't say no to him so she nods yes. he smiles, says "that's my good girl. we just need to head back in then so I can switch my lab section – by a remarkable coincidence I wanted in to your orgo lab. let's hope they're not full up yet and I can be your partner there too. okay? he says encouragingly to her bent head. she nods again, he grins, says "Up we go then," and hoists them both to standing, not removing his arm from around her shoulders.
in short order he has moved her in to his room in the house he shares with the rest of them, making her a "safe space" out of an oversized dog kennel covered with blankets where she can retreat when she's scared and he's not around. she also runs in there when he hurts her feelings, like when he asks her why she's majoring in the sciences instead of the humanities and she says she wants to be a doctor and he laughs uproariously.
He stops laughing when he sees her fly out of the room, and starts to realize how badly he's hurt her. Mentally crossing his fingers, hoping she hasn't flown out of the house though he didn't hear the door, he checks his room first, and like the Grinch, his heart grows three sizes all at once when he sees that—even though it was he himself who hurt her this time—she has still run to her kennel, and is now there, curled up in a corner, crying.
He says, "Thank God," under his breath, then turns and locks the door and, for good measure, props a chair up against it to give him more time to catch her if she makes a break for it. She's still heedlessly crying in the kennel, so then he gets on his hands and knees and climbs in after her, closing the kennel door from the inside as he goes, then pulling her in to his bent body and curling up with her in the blankets. She lets go then, sobbing hard in his arms, and he makes soothing noises and pets her hair and holds her. Breathing with her, he coaches her through the last big heaves after she's cried herself out, then says, quietly, "Baby girl, I am so sorry. I will never laugh at you like that again," he says, meaning it with all his heart, and hers, because he knows now for certain she's given hers to him to take care of.
She's calm now, and says back, "That's okay, Edward. I know it sounds ridiculous. I know I am ridiculous—"
He interrupts her there, sternly. "Sweetheart, you are not ridiculous. Just a little confused sometimes, about some things, for very good reasons."
"you don't think I can be a doctor?" she asks shyly.
"sweetheart, I don't want you to be a doctor."
You don't?
I don't.
Shyly, she asks so softly he can barely hear, "Why not?"
He pulls her tighter and chuckles, softly too. "Because, baby girl, I like you like this."
They lay there a moment, and she takes this in, relaxing into him, letting him comfort her. "Like what?" she asks, just a whisper.
Edward feels desire flood him, and he turns his body a little so that he's putting pressure on her side now, half-laying on top of her. "Like this," he says throatily, as he moves one leg between the two of hers, rolling her almost on her stomach, and puts one hand down on the kennel floor in front of her, pinning her and pressing the length of him up against her, from top to bottom. Then he leans down and bites her, on the back of her neck, leaving his mouth there, his teeth gently but firmly against her skin.
She squeals, then whimpers, bucking her hips up then arching away when she collides with his almost-scary body. He follows after her, pressing farther into her as she flattens herself against the blanket-colored floor, lifting his mouth off her neck in order to whisper in her ear, "That's right, Isabella, you're mine. That's how I like you, and that's how I'm going to keep you."
They're both breathing heavily now, but Bella's feeling braver than ever before somehow, the way he's containing her body giving her a new feeling of safety. She capitalizes on this by fighting back a little, wriggling her body in a way that makes them both feel really good, and really tense. "Please," she breathes, moving her hips side to side without meaning to.
"Please, what?" Edward says back, flexing his quite intentionally.
"Let-me-go!" she gets out, breathlessly, pushing up with her arms and trying to buck him off her back.
He laughs, lightly, says back, "Not a chance in Hell, sweetheart, or in heaven for that matter," before wrapping his arms around her chest and flipping her on top of him, where she immediately curls up like a millipede that's been poked, covering her head with her arms. He half-way sits up (unable to all the way because of the roof of the kennel), and wraps a blanket around her, stashing her in his lap.
At that moment, Emmett knocks on the door before rattling the handle. "Eddie boy, you in here? We're holding dinner on—"
Edward interrupts him. "We'll be down in a minute, Emmett. Go ahead without us, please."
Emmett makes "oooh" sounds, and starts cat-calling. "Edward and Bella, sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g."
To which Edward responds with equal maturity, yelling "Shut the f- up, Em," covering Bella's ears as he does so.
"Daddy, I don't like chemistry," she whispers, her head nestled against his shoulder, her eyes closed.
"Baby girl, I'm glad," he says, matter-of-factly, keeping the triumphant whoop out of his voice that she has just named him the way he's been naming her since their second day together, as she appears to be oblivious to that fact herself.
"You are?" she asks, totally surprised.
"I am. I have no desire to marry myself. I want you to be different; to be good at different things than I am; to see the world differently. It makes my life better, having you in it; having you be different—very different—from me. It will make our kids' lives better too." He's not hesitant as he says this last bit, though he does pause briefly first. He's never said those words before, and as he expects, they have a big effect.
Bella goes stone still, then breathes out, hesitant, "Kids?"
"Yes, baby girl. Lots and lots of kids." His heart soars at how happy she looks at this, the smile on her face, the little squeal that breaks out before she turns and buries her face in his chest. He places his large hand over her head, holding her there, making promise after promise without speaking another word.
After a little while, Bella's finding it hard to breathe so moves away just a little, and Edward lets her, saying, "Now let's go get dinner, baby girl."
But she doesn't scramble off his lap right away. Instead, she asks, hesitantly but with a new determination in her voice, "Um, Edward?"
He pauses, settling back down, recognizing she's not done yet and reconciling his hungry stomach to that fact.
Brushing hair off her face, he looks down at her shy but earnest expression, and grins. "Are you sure that's my name?"
She gets confused. "What do you mean?"
He pretends seriousness, and part of him is. "You called me something else just now, and I liked it. Everybody calls me Edward; well, except for Emmett of course. I like it when you call me something different."
"Something different?" She sounds clueless, and she mostly is, except for some small part of her, buried deep, but growing stronger—and happier—every day. That part knows what he means, but won't let her admit it without hearing it from him first.
"You know what I mean," he smiles down at her, calling out that part of her that he knows is there too, rubbing his nose against hers.
She shakes her head, and looks down, and smiles shyly, hiding against his shoulder.
He starts petting her hair, over and over, holding her tightly to him the way you'd hold a wriggly baby with no neck control yet, keeping her safe from her own impulses.
"You're my baby girl, and I'm your—" he pauses there, cuing her, waiting for her to finish.
She giggles nervously, but just turns farther into him and says nothing.
He won't let her out of this; he can't. He knows how important this moment is. He also knows it's not the question she meant to ask him earlier, but that it answers every question she might ask. Identifying the nature of their relationship transcends every other issue they might face together, because it lets her know how every other issue will be met: with him in front, making decisions, holding her hand and telling her only what he thinks she needs to know. From her perspective, it looks like her hiding behind him, gripping onto his legs from behind, using him (she feels the pain and shame of this) as a shield to protect her from a world that always has been and always will be too much. She wants to be there, more than anything, but she can't quite believe he wants her there too. It's too good to be true; she's sure of it. And yet, there he is, egging her on, getting her to call him…to call him…
"You're my baby girl, and I'm your—" Edward says again, more slowly, more pronounced, his hands moving towards the end into tickle positions. When she doesn't say the missing word, just giggling again, he takes action, rolling her onto her back and tickling her unmercifully.
She writhes, laughing, face on fire, a little genuine distress building at how out-of-control she feels, a little afraid she's going to wet her pants right there, in front of him. If only she knew he's a little wanting her to.
"Say it," he goads, pausing briefly with his hands to give her the chance to finish the sentence.
She's breathing heavily, looking up at him, and smiles in spite of herself, shaking her head "No," free to fight him now that she knows—or at least is beginning to suspect—that he will never, ever let her win.
He laughs. "All right, baby girl, you asked for it," and starts in again, adding his lips and tongue and teeth against her bellybutton. Isabella really is close to peeing or …something, and the terror of that makes her cry out, "Okay! Uncle! Uncle, uncle, uncle!"
Edward pauses, moving his head up her body to stare down at her eyes swimming with tears, mostly from laughter but partly real, and says, looking like a wolf and feeling like one too, "Close, but wrong relationship, little girl. Try again. You are my little girl, and I am your—"
He hangs there, hovering in her personal space, his eyes boring down. She closes her eyes against the invasion, terrified, screwing her face up tightly, trying to outlast his will to keep her secret safe. He's got her though, and he knows it. One more time, he leans in to her ear, and says with heat and promise, "Say it, Isabella. You are my little girl, and I am your—"
She breaks. Into a million pieces she flies, and as she comes apart she screams, much louder than she intended, "Daddy! You are my daddy!"
The words fly out and around them both, whipping the air and sucking their consciousness into a silent space where they both freeze, staring at each other, Bella's eyes open now with the horror of what she's just said, Edward's staring at her with the wonder and awe of it. Finally, Edward breaks the silence, and the space dissolves, collapsing into them and binding them together, forever. Nodding his head as he speaks, so calmly, he says, "That's right, Isabella. You are my little girl, and I am your Daddy."
She almost explodes at the power of his words, but instead seizes up into as small a ball as she can form, covering her head with her arms, shaking, panting, undone. He smiles, and pulls her back into his lap one more time, covering her all over with gentle pats and rubs and kisses.
"Shhhhh, sweetheart, it's okay; it's okay now, baby. Daddy's here; Daddy's never going to leave you alone; you will never be alone again."
And finally, at the verbalization of that last promise, Bella throws herself at him, wrapping her desperately ecstatic arms around his neck, squeezing his neck tight, thanking God for being so unaccountably good to her, thanking Edward for being like God. "Thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you," she chants, as he shushes her, and pats her, and repeats over and over, "Such a good girl, sweetheart; you're such a good girl. Daddy's sweet little girl," and at that word again, she writhes and wriggles and they start the calming all over again until finally, finally, she's worn out, and collapses into his lap, totally pliant, totally his.