AN: I think I got everyone a review reply and a teaser for this chapter-again, if I missed you, I apologize-ffnet doesn't keep track of who I've replied to and who I haven't. And another mea culpa for posting this on a Tuesday instead of on Monday. I don't suppose it would make any difference if I said it was the Gossip Girl premiere last night? No? I didn't think so :)

Playlist is updated, one song on the regular list and another with a youtube link. Both great songs, you should check them out!

As always, thanks to JosieSwan, my fantabulous beta, without who I have been making ZERO progress on the next chapter, and Izzzyy, who is the greatest pre-reading cheerleader I could hope to have.

Chapter 25: Flight—or Fight?

Edward

My edict that Bella stay with me apparently didn't extend to the morning, because when I woke up, she was gone. I told myself that I understood why she'd left—I wasn't just any guy; I had a past, a reputation that wasn't exactly savory, and she wouldn't want everyone to discover that we were sleeping together.

But no matter how much logical sense it made, it still bothered me. If I'd had feelings, they definitely would have been hurt.

I rolled over, and glanced at the clock on the bedside table. Typical Edward Cullen behavior, I thought with a bitter edge, sleeping until the afternoon. Maybe it made more sense than I'd realized that Bella had abandoned me. I might want to sleep until 2 in the afternoon, but I didn't think that was like her.

Bella was a "get up and gone things done" type. She kept semi-regular hours, probably went grocery shopping, paid her bills, went to the gym, and sat in her apartment with Alice watching shows like True Blood, and arguing over whether Sookie should end up with Bill or Eric.

Normal things.

I wouldn't know normal if it came up and kicked my ass.

I got up and showered, dressing quickly without looking once at the guitar that sat in the closet. If I thought about it, or what it could mean, I'd never hold it together.

I was barely holding it together as it was. In fact, the only time I felt marginally alright was when I was wrapped around Bella; it wasn't because she was a girl, and I liked having sex with her... it was because it meant I could feel something other than the sheer, terrorizing panic that I no longer understood who I was.

Instead, Bella felt like the glue that was holding the pieces of me together.

I snuck down the stairs for the second day in a row. I knew I would be way too lucky to avoid everyone again, and I knew I couldn't go to Jasper's again. But that didn't mean that I couldn't leave.

I'd just made it down the stairs when I heard the voice behind me.

"Running away again?"

It was Carlisle, of course.

"You're way too good," I admittedly sheepishly, hating that I felt almost ashamed by what I'd been doing. I'd run for years before this, whenever I wanted, however I wanted, and nobody had ever been able to make me feel guilty for doing it. I was Edward Cullen, after all, and I went wherever the fuck I wanted, whenever the fuck I wanted.

But, like everything else, I seemed to have gotten in touch with the part of me that felt it necessary to take responsibility for my actions and it was becoming clearer why I'd never done it before—it really sucked ass.

"You were waiting for me," I stated, as we walked into the kitchen. I opened the fridge, and pulled out a carton of orange juice.

Carlisle shrugged. "Esme's got a lot of pride. She's not going to lie in wait for you and force you to talk to her."

"She used to."

"That was then. This is now." Carlisle didn't say the reason she no longer waited was because I'd purposefully hurt her so many times in an attempt to get her to stop caring, but we both knew the truth. He'd hated what I'd done then, and I knew his feelings hadn't changed.

The only feelings that had changed were my own, and reaching for a glass in a cupboard, I felt that now-familiar stab of guilt.

I poured the orange juice, but didn't drink. I just stared at it, wishing that it was some sort of potion that could either turn back time or turn me back into the kind of person that I knew—the kind of person that I recognized.

I decided to stick to facts. That had worked alright with Esme yesterday. "Jasper said you cancelled the tour and told everyone that I was sick."

Carlisle nodded. "It seemed like the best choice. After all, I didn't think that advertising you were kidnapped by your late father's nutjob paramilitary terrorist organization was a very good idea. Plus," he added, almost as an aside, "Esme would hated everyone knowing the truth."

"About her and my father," I clarified. I wasn't stupid enough to really believe that she gave a shit about what people thought of me. I'd done an excellent job tearing my reputation to shreds until there was nothing left. The only reputation that was left to save was Esme's, and I knew how much she cared about preserving it. So much so, that even if I hadn't been a complete and total jackass to her on purpose, she probably would have distanced herself from me to save it.

"If that's what you want to believe," Carlisle said calmly, "but I think you'll find that Esme isn't exactly what you believe she is."

I rolled my eyes. It was just like Carlisle, to believe in the best of everyone—even of a woman who'd patronized, judged, and generally been everything hateful to him for the totality of their acquaintance.

"She's grateful I'm back, that I'm alive, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera," I said, digging down deep to find the same nasty voice that I'd used so effortlessly before. "But once she realizes she didn't have to plan a funeral and a wake for me, she'll return to being vaguely annoyed at my presence."

Carlisle shook his head. "You're wrong. She was so terrified you'd be hurt or killed. I've never seen her so upset."

"As upset as when she learned the tablecloth linens are ivory instead of ecru?"

Carlisle gave me his stern look as I finally picked up my glass of juice and drank it down. "I've given you a lot of slack where Esme is concerned over the years that I've managed you, but no more. You will treat her with the respect and the deference and the loyalty that she deserves as your mother. I won't accept anything less. That means the nasty remarks and the snide comments stop now."

As Carlisle's pronouncement detonated in the silence of the kitchen, I began to wonder if I wasn't the only one who'd been irrevocably altered by this experience. Carlisle seemed different too—and not just different because I was—but stronger somehow, as if he'd rediscovered the determination of his convictions.

"Fine," I said shortly. Carlisle was the one man I'd always hated arguing with. "Now where is everyone?" I didn't want to mention Bella by name because it would instantly alert him to her importance, and I wasn't ready to face that line of questioning yet. I didn't know how she could possibly fit in with my life, or even if she would want to.

After all, if I couldn't even decide who I was, how on earth could I decide what she meant to me?

"I believe the girls are out on the patio by the pool."

"The girls?"

"Rose and Alice, of course, and they're with Bella. And I believe that Renee and Esme have joined them. Emmett went for a jog."

"I don't understand," I said. "Esme's by the pool? Is there some party that we're having that I'm not aware of?"

Carlisle shook his head, and I felt another mini-explosion rock my preconceived notions. "She likes spending time with the girls," Carlisle added, by way of explanation. "I think they help relieve some of the burden of being . . .well. . .of being her."

"I didn't realize she wanted to relieve the burden. I thought she loved being Esme Platt." I barely managed to keep my tone of voice civil. It had been barely two minutes since Carlisle's edict, and I supposed it wouldn't hurt me to keep it for at least twenty-four hours.

"Again, I think there's a lot of things that you don't know about Esme."

The whole conversation had been so bizarre that I hadn't caught on to the strangely proprietary way that Carlisle kept referring to her until now. And once I heard it, I instantly knew what it meant, though I was sure I had to be wrong. There was no way Esme would ever do that. Right? But then, if I wasn't wrong, then Carlisle would be right—I clearly hadn't known her as well as I thought I had.

"So it's like that, then," I said, sticking my hands in the front pockets of my jeans. "I mean, I always knew that you had a soft spot for her, no matter how much she abused you, but I never thought . . ."

It felt pretty good to see a look of mild panic descend over his features. He'd controlled almost this whole conversation, which wasn't like us—I wasn't exactly feeling like myself—but now, I had him where I wanted him.

And then, to my surprise, he pulled himself up, straightening his back and he looked me right in the eye. "I'm in love with her. And I'm pretty sure that in time, she'll come to love me too. Does that bother you?"

Fuck, I didn't know if it bothered me. I could barely wrap my head around the idea that Esme could even love, never mind that she could fall in love with Carlisle.

Emotions in general made me uneasy, but I told myself that love was so far out of my realm of experience that I wasn't exactly qualified to give my opinion on this. So I just shrugged, and said, "Whatever makes you two happy."

Carlisle's eyes narrowed, as if he could read my mind and he knew why I was giving my approval, but he dropped it and changed the subject. "So, I have to admit, I was a little surprised when I met Bella. After Renee . . ."

"They're not really all that alike inside, but as soon as she told me who her mother was, I couldn't believe I didn't see it before." I relaxed, feeling like we'd moved to a subject that I could discuss without something inside of me getting tight and anxious. A second glass of orange juice downed, I opened the fridge again, and began combing the shelves for food.

"You mean you saw a resemblance between them?" Carlisle sounded confused, which was bizarre. It was so obvious—in the curve of their necks, in the slopes of their faces, in the shape of their eyes. They looked exactly the same, practically.

"Of course I did," I told Carlisle in exasperation.

"You know, they don't look all that much alike to me . . ." Carlisle began, but I cut him off.

"Then you're fucking blind. She's beautiful. They're both beautiful. Though Renee's clearly been on the plastic surgery wagon. Nobody looks that good and has a 24 year old daughter." I pulled bagels from the hutch and tore one open.

"Uh huh. So. . .I have to ask. Are you and her . . ."

This was the question that I'd dreaded hearing, and I realized that maybe Carlisle hadn't been changing the subject after all. He'd moved straight on from his relationship to what he thought of mine. I stayed silent, sticking the two halves into the toaster. I pushed down the lever probably harder than was necessary and it squawked in protest.

"I saw the way you looked at her. It was hard to miss."

"It's nothing," I said, but it felt so wrong to lie about it that I immediately backpedaled. "Well, that's not exactly true. It's not. . .nothing. Not exactly. But I have no idea what it is, so don't try to get a label out of me."

"Yes, because you're such a fan of labels," Carlisle said sarcastically. "I think Rose is still trying to recover from your lack of labeling ability."

Of course, he had to bring Rosalie into it. "I'm not proud of what happened with her," I admitted, "but it appears to have turned out alright in the end."

"Emmett's a good guy."

I nodded, and taking a deep breath, I turned to get a plate and to tell the one person who could maybe understand what I was going through. He probably knew, anyway. Carlisle was ridiculously perceptive, and he'd known me for a long, long time.

"I feel different. I don't know if I'm changed or anything. But I do know that I'm feelings things that I've never felt before. Guilt. Shame. I'm embarrassed at a lot of shit that I've done."

The kitchen was so quiet, the only sound the crumby rustle of the bagels in the toaster. Carlisle didn't say anything right away, and I wanted so badly to turn around, to see what his expression was, but I was too chicken shit. It was one thing to face down Jane or even Niall, but as much as I hated to admit, I discovered that I cared about what Carlisle thought of me. I wanted to him to understand that I regretted the way I'd been, that the kidnapping had given me perspective and the ability to take a hard, clear look at myself.

I hadn't liked what I'd seen.

"Did you ever wonder why I never gave up? Left? Quit? Because you were so damn talented, and I kept hoping that you would figure this shit out. I hate that you had to go through what you did, but maybe something good can come of it."

The bagels popped out from the toaster. I grabbed one, swearing under my breath as it scorched the tips of my fingers. I couldn't avoid turning around any longer, and I glanced up as I reached for the cream cheese that was on the counter in front of Carlisle. He was smiling, not smugly, but as if he was genuinely glad for me.

"I hate it. I wish I could go back."

I'd been an asshole, but it had been easy, simple, and straightforward to be an asshole. It was a hell of a lot more complicated to be a good guy. Not that I was necessarily good, but I wasn't as bad as I'd been. The drive to be that guy had been driven and scared right out of me.

"You can't."

I hated the finality of his voice, as if he was already anticipating the man I'd be because of this. And fuck if I was going to be anybody other than what I was. "Don't expect me to go all Mary Poppins on you now," I snapped. "I'm not that different."

But Carlisle didn't seem shaken by my abrupt shift, and as I slathered cream cheese on the bagel, he leaned against the counter. "I think we should keep the tour cancelled," he said casually. "Give you some time. You'd been driving yourself pretty hard before, and well . . .nobody could blame you for needing some time after what you've been through."

I shrugged. "Either way. I don't really care. But you already cancelled the tour. Everything's taken care of. Might as well just leave it."

"You only had a few more dates anyway. And what about the studio?"

I remembered then that the plan had been to head straight to the recording studio after the tour ended, so I could write a new album that theoretically would put the bad taste of Aiming to Misbehave out of everyone's mouths.

I could do this, I told myself; I could be Edward Cullen. Just the same way I'd been before, just without the revolving door of women and the constant alcoholic haze.

Besides, how was I really different? I was just Edward Cullen with a smidgen of conscience now, instead of none at all.

But before I could answer Carlisle, Bella walked into the kitchen, her brown hair falling in loose waves around her beautiful face, a filmy white wrap covering—but not quite covering—up the red and white polka-dot bikini she was wearing underneath. I froze, and it all came roaring back.

She stopped up short, clearly not expecting to see me in the kitchen, or to be interrupting a discussion between me and my manager. "Oh sorry," she said awkwardly, "I didn't mean to intrude."

"Bella," Carlisle said warmly with a genuine note of welcome in his voice, "don't worry about it. Edward and I were just discussing his new album."

Carlisle didn't know Bella like I knew Bella, and he missed how those gorgeous brown eyes of hers narrowed from wide-eyed innocence to calculating, intense interest. I didn't, however. I just hoped that Carlisle wouldn't bring up Aiming to Misbehave, because Bella was like a piranha after a particularly tasty human morsel when it came to that particular subject.

"A new album?" Bella asked with interest.

"Bella's a music blogger and an Athair fan," I explained.

"And how was it, being imprisoned with the lead singer?" Carlisle asked.

"It was . . .educational," Bella said with a teasing glint in her eye, and just like that, I wanted to drag her away from the kitchen, away from Carlisle and anyone who could ruin this—which was pretty much everyone on the whole fucking planet, myself included.

"I'm surprised he told you anything," Carlisle said as he rolled eyes. "He's ridiculously close-lipped with the press. Refuses to share."

"Oh, I can be fairly persuasive," Bella said sweetly, sending me a scorching look far too reminiscent of how she looked just last night, her hair falling around our faces as she rode me to a blistering orgasm.

I couldn't help it, though I had no idea where it even came from—because god knew I'd never done it in my life—but I blushed. A real, true blush; a scorching, neon red that made even Carlisle look at me like I'd just lost my mind. Because let's face it, if he hadn't realized before now what was going on with Bella, he'd just figured it out.

Even Bella was staring at me in a different way, as if she was really seeing me for the very first time—and for a single beat, then for another, nobody moved or said a word. The color faded from my cheeks, but I didn't know what to say.

I felt naked and unbearably exposed.

"Well," Carlisle finally said quietly, "I can certainly see that you can be."

Bella's short, dark-haired friend made her appearance in the kitchen, at possibly the most inopportune moment. "Bella," she started to say, and then froze, clearly understanding she'd walked into something she didn't understand.

I didn't pretend to understand it either—I only knew that we'd given ourselves away to Carlisle, and I would have to explain that this wasn't the same. I didn't know what it was yet, but I did know it couldn't be the same.

I wasn't ready to explain it, I was pretty fucking sure that I couldn't, so I did what I'd always done best: evasion. "Perfect timing," I said with a big smile in the girls' direction, "I was just about to suggest that we go out tonight. Celebrate."

"And what are we celebrating?" Bella asked curiously.

"Life," I said shortly. I didn't want to come out and say that I was pretty damn pleased that I hadn't become Niall's bitch and she hadn't been branded like a animal, but that was what it came down to. Plus, I'd decided that I would have to figure out a way to involve Bella with my life. I wasn't the same, but I wasn't that different either, and the best way to understand how she fit in would be to take her for a trial run.

No, I thought with sudden clarity, it wouldn't be her I'd be taking for the trail run-it was the new version of my life that I was testing out.

"That could be fun," Bella's friend said, with a bright smile in my direction.

"You should invite Rose. And Emmett, of course," I told her, trying to telegraph that I wanted to be alone with Bella. Carlisle would understand; he'd spent years being dismissed by my presence so that I could charm some female out of her clothes.

I didn't want to charm this particular female out of her pants—but only out of the logic that was as much a part of her as her bones or her skin. Already, a pucker had begun to form between her eyebrows and I could see the hesitation in her eyes. She didn't want to go, that much was clear.

"I'll go let Rose know," Alice said wisely, turning around and walking out of the kitchen. Carlisle gave me a single hard, searching look, as if he was trying to understand what had happened to the person he knew so well. He could look, I thought, but he wouldn't exactly find him anymore.

When Carlisle was gone, Bella turned to me, a frustrated look on her face. "What is going on with you? We're going out? To celebrate?"

"We're not dead. You aren't branded. I'm not in eternal servitude to a terrorist organization. I think we came out alright. There's nothing wrong with celebrating that."

"Don't you think that it's a bit. . .callous?"

"We're fine," I told her, more than a little exasperated. Didn't she get it? I needed to do this—I needed to do normal things, things that Edward Cullen did, so I could figure out what was left of me. And once I'd determined what was missing, I could go about trying to fill the holes.

With what exactly, I wasn't sure. But I sure as hell couldn't stay like this forever—eternally a piece of Swiss cheese.

"You can go," she said dismissively, "but I don't want to go."

This totally defeated the purpose of the outing in the first place, but even more than that, I discovered that I didn't want to go without her.

"I'd really like you to," I said calmly.

"I don't feel comfortable with it. I'm sorry," Bella said stiffly, and I couldn't help but wonder for a moment if her reluctance was because she didn't want to be seen publicly with me—if she didn't want anyone to find out that we were involved.

"Fine," I growled. Didn't she see that I was trying to make an effort? It was just like her to throw it back in my face. Clearly the truce we'd come to the night before our escape was only temporary. Maybe I was insane to think that we could ever have made it work between us.

She looked like she wanted to say something else, but at the last moment changed her mind, because instead of speaking, Bella whirled around, the white translucent fabric of her wrap floating out around her, and she marched out of the kitchen.

Bella

"I don't get it, Bells. You should be coming with us," Alice chattered, as she sat at the ivory claw-footed vanity and applied mascara to her lashes.

"I have a headache. I'm tired. And you know it isn't my kind of scene," I said shortly, not looking up from loose thread on the duvet cover I was picking at.

"That isn't true; I've been to the place we're going with Rosalie, and we had a good time. Not only would you enjoy yourself, it just doesn't feel right to leave you here."

I clamped my lips together and struggled to keep a neutral expression on my face. I couldn't exactly tell Alice that I was in love with Edward Cullen, and that was why I couldn't go with him to the club and watch him return to exactly the kind of person he'd been before we met. I'd always known he would, of course, which was why I'd fought so hard against falling for him—it could only end badly, after all—but I also hadn't thought that I'd have to watch him while he did it.

"I feel like you're punishing yourself. What I can't figure out is what you're punishing yourself for," Alice said softly, and I glanced up to see her eyes steadily watching me in the mirror. I figured it would only be a matter of time before Alice discovered that Edward and I weren't just friendly acquaintances, and I was trying to postpone that moment as long as possible.

"I'm not," I argued. "It's not about that at all. I just don't want to go."

"Bella," Alice said with exaggerated patience as she rose and walked over to the bed, wrapping her navy blue silk robe tighter around her midsection, "I know you're lying. Please tell me what's bothering you."

I wanted to, but the love and the fear and the emotions that I'd been struggling with were bottled up so tightly that if I let even a bit of them slip, then they'd all come crashing out like a tsunami. And I couldn't afford to let go like that—not while Edward was under the same roof. He was way too perceptive, and my worst fear was that he'd discover how I felt about him. So far, I'd managed to play him off with a breezy, casual affection, but I knew it was only a matter of time before he penetrated my defenses and discovered that the feelings I had went far, far deeper than a mere fancy.

I didn't speculate about what would happen at that juncture, because I knew.

"There's nothing wrong," I insisted.

"It's him, isn't it?" Alice said, settling down beside me on the bed.

"I don't know what you're talking about." I tried to brush it off, but I wasn't a good actress under the best circumstances, and I'd used all my energy to cover in front of everyone else. There was simply nothing left in my reserves for this performance and I knew it. Even worse, Alice knew it.

"You can stop pretending around me. I know you—better than anyone else, remember? You're my best friend," Alice said softly, and to my horror, I saw her eyes glisten with tears. If she started crying, I'd never be able to hold it together. I was already failing, the wall holding the flood back crumbling in the face of her love and concern. Swallowing hard, I looked down at the duvet again.

"I can see how you fell for him. Really, I can. He's not what I expected at all, and he's surprisingly sweet with you. And maybe . . ."

" . . .and maybe what?" I finally demanded, my voice cracking as I looked back up at her. "He'll fall in love with me too? Don't be ridiculous, Alice. He's not a wild animal that needs to be domesticated." A tear fell out of my eye, and I gritted my teeth. "You have to understand. I know how this is going to end, and I can't be there and watch him . . .I just can't. Not after everything."

Alice reached out and gripped my hands in hers. "Emmett told me a little of what you went through, of how strong you were. And the thing is, I never doubted your bravery, Bells. I always knew you could be so unforgiving in the face of something that awful. You're the strongest person that I've ever met. And that girl, she wouldn't ever run away, she wouldn't ever wave the white flag."

She didn't get it; it wasn't a white flag. It was sheer self-preservation.

"I know you think you're protecting yourself by doing this—by never giving him a chance to be the guy you need him to be. But maybe he's changed too. Emmett told Rosalie that he was worried about you while you two were locked up, that he made sure that nothing happened to you. Maybe the foundation's in there, you just need to give it a chance to grow."

I laughed, a bitter, melancholy sound echoing harshly in Esme's beautiful blue guest bedroom. "It's temporary," I told her, "a temporary insanity. It'll pass."

"So you're just going to give up then, without trying." Alice said it a little scornfully, and I knew I'd lost of little of her respect, but what other choice did I have? One didn't willingly go into the wolves' den and then expect to come out alive and unharmed.

"Did you ever think," Alice said, sliding off the bed and returning to the mirror before the vanity, "that maybe your certainty of how this is all going to go down isn't about your fear that he'll ditch you, but your fear that he won't?"

With that last bomb, Alice turned back to the mirror, and started mussing with her hair, as if she hadn't said the one thing that could really make me rethink my decision.

Maybe, I thought—and for the first time, I let myself go down that particular path—maybe he had changed. An experience like that would change anyone. He certainly had been sweet—desperately wanting to save me, to play the hero, and even to prolong our time together before Carlisle came.

And then there was last night, where'd he possessed with me with such a passionate ferocity that I couldn't help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, he wanted this as much as I did.

I looked up into Alice's reflection, suddenly and resolutely decided. I would give him the opportunity to be the man that I knew he could be. The rest would be up to him. "I'll go," I said. "But for the record, if this goes south, it was all your idea."

"Of course it was. Now what are we going to dress you in?"

I rolled my eyes. "I know you're all fashionista these days, but really, you know me. Jeans and a t-shirt. That's fine for me."

"Actually, it's not," Alice said mischievously, tilting her head and examining my reflection behind her. "The club has a dress code. But don't worry—you'll still be you. Not Groupie Bella and certainly not Kidnapped Bella either. I think it's time for Edward to meet the real Bella Swan."

AN: As always, a review = review reply + teaser for chapter 26, which is currently tentatively titled "Gold Guns Girls."