A/N: Guys – you are such angels with all the reviews! I am reading them all and loving each and every one. Unfortunately, I'm not sure if I'll have time to write this weekend but I promise Edward and Bella will be back in full force on Monday

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Chapter 9 - The Holy Trinity

"How is she doing, Carlisle?"

"She's healing nicely, Edward." The tone sounds gentle but there's an exasperated air to it.

"But her arms … her legs … her-" the first voice insists.

"They're just bruises," the second voice cuts in. "Everything is just fine."

"But her abdomen. It was so rigid. I should've been more careful. She's so fragile, too fragile, I -"

"We repaired the bleed. It was a textbook surgery. You know this, Edward."

"Then, why isn't she waking up? It's been days, Carlisle, this isn't normal. Maybe the jump was too much for her. I've never brought a person over before, I -"

"She's just sleeping - her vitals are stone cold normal. You know this, Edward."

The words are starting to make sense now. I can feel my mind focusing, awareness seeping back into me. I'm laying down … in a bed. An uncomfortable one. The sheets beneath my fingertips are scratchy. I try to open my eyes but my lids feel so heavy. I relax them, then try again. This time I have more success.

Everything is a bit blurry and I blink a few times, trying to clear the picture. My mouth feels dry. Parched. And I swallow instinctively, trying to drink in the moisture I need. I take an assessment of myself. There are tubes everywhere: Little plastic nubs are stuck in my nostrils giving me air. A plastic needle leads out of a vein in the crook of my right elbow - it's filled with a light yellow liquid of some kind. On my left forefinger is a large bulky clip. A thick piece of padding is rolled around my left upper arm and it fills up with air as I catalog it, squeezing me impossibly tight. It hurts. Some of the tubes run down to a machine sitting at the bedside with numbers I don't understand. 125/70. 85. 98%. There are others but I don't care.

I don't want to be here - tied down like this. I don't understand what's going on, how I got here. I don't like it. I pull at the IV, yanking it out. A bit of liquid spurts out and I drop it, reaching for the other wires. Things start beeping in protest. I reach for a monitor, trying to turn it off but accidentally knock it over. The insufferable thing has the audacity to beep louder somehow and I groan in frustration. My voice sounds foreign - broken and parched.

The door opens then and two figures walk in. Bright fluorescent light follows them in and I shield my eyes from it, blinking.

"Hello, Bella." Such a calming voice. Like a light breeze on a spring day. Lilting and musical. I relax at the sound.

"My name is Dr. Carlisle Cullen. I'm your general surgeon. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?"

The man speaking stands in front, shielding the other partially from view. There is no white coat - only a pair of light gray scrubs. I feel my eyebrows knit together as I try to make sense of the situation. He doesn't seem to have any problems with my lack of response. His hands are folded casually at his waist and his smile is comforting and patient. I blink a few times, taking in his familiar features. Something in the line of his jaw, the shape of his pale blue eyes… even his hair is windswept in that same effortless fashion. Memory tugs at me as I try to place the similarities.

"Edward." I hear myself say. It's a statement and not a question.

The doctor steps aside slightly. "Ah yes, my son here has told me all about you." The second figure steps out and Dr. Cullen places a parental hand on his shoulder. Green eyes meet mine and I gasp.

He looks terrible. There are bags under his eyes and his hair is somehow more unruly than ever. There is a sallow gaunt appearance to his cheeks, as if he's gone too long without eating. There is something different about his eyes - darker, maybe. There is something deep and consuming about his gaze.

He comes to me then. A little too quickly as if he can't help himself and I thrill at the thought. "Bella. Bella." It's relief, worry. A prayer. He comes so close, not bothering with the bedside chair. He's leaning over me and his palm comes up to cup my right cheek.

"Bella," he says again. The tone is low, desperate. "How do you feel?"

Before I can consider this question his breath washes over me. The change is immediate. My entire body is alight with a burning fire. I can feel my heart start to race in my chest and it's a wonder that the whole world cannot hear it. He's so close, too close. I can feel the cool, soft touch of his hand on me and it tingles. Something stirs in me, deep and low and I gasp. My cheeks flush hot. I try to look away from his gaze, to break the spell, but I can't bring myself to - endless evergreens and fresh pine. Like a moth to a flame.

Someone clears their throat.

"Perhaps some distance," suggests the doctor. His smile is polite. "At least until things are … settled."

Edward straightens stiffly as if with great effort. His hand snatches away from me and I feel the absence of it immediately. He takes a step backwards away from me and I want to shout 'No' but hold my tongue. Dr. Cullen is crossing the room then. He reaches around the blinds of the window at the far end and touches something. There's a click and I can hear the sound of the window being cracked open. After a moment a cool breeze filters in, chasing away a modicum of the sweet spice in the air. I take in a breath, calming myself.

Something occurs to me and my cheeks color hot again.

"Does that … does that happen … often?" It must if this doctor, his … father, is aware of it. My blush deepens impossibly as I register what I'd heard earlier. His father. God, how embarrassing could this get?

"No," Edward reassures me. "Never." Mollified, I relax back into the bed. But then a thought occurs to me. If this never happened that meant that my reaction was an anomaly. I didn't… work right? My cheeks heat in horror and Edward chuckles as if he can tell what I'm thinking.

Dr. Cullen is very professional, asking questions about how I'm feeling. Any pain? Nausea, vomiting? Have I passed stool yet? I flush at that - I don't want Edward here for this. The questions continue in the same fashion while he checks me over - asking me to look into pen lights and having me hold up both my arms and legs in a silly fashion. I follow everything without complaint.

I gather that I was injured and there was some internal bleeding. We don't touch on the topic of how I got injured in the first place and since I'm not sure how much Edward has told him, I don't ask too many questions.

"Well," Dr. Cullen says after what feels like an hour of poking and prodding. "I feel comfortable starting the discharge process. Do you have any questions for me?" I hesitate. I have so many questions, but … I sneak a glance at Edward, trying to discern what is and isn't allowable. But I can't read his expression. There's something controlled about it. Something hidden.

"No, thank you so much," I say lamely after a moment.

"Excellent, I'll get the paperwork started." He turns to his son. "Edward," he says as a parting note with a nod.

"Father," replies Edward. How formal … but not cold or unfeeling. Strange.

The blond doctor walks out and is stopped by a woman in pink and purple scrubs outside.

"Discharging the Jane Doe?" I can hear her say from beyond the door.

"Yes, everything's in order," replies Dr. Cullen.

"Did you ever figure out her name?"

I hear the doctor clear his throat - a little nervously, I think - but I can't make out his reply as their voices fade away.

Edward turns to me then, interrupting my train of thought.

"Are you ready to go?" Something unspoken passes between us and I have the strange feeling that his question means more than it seems. I look back into his deep set emerald eyes, dark purple bruises underneath. My hand reaches out as the urge to brush away the darkness there burns in me. But I stop myself just inches from touching him and drop my hand. I let out a sigh unbidden and reply: "Yes, I'm ready."

Edward hovers as I sign the discharge paperwork promising to return if any number of horrifying symptoms occur. Before I can even realize I have nothing to change into, he presents me with a set of new clothes: a blue blouse and beige joggers. The clothes seem to sit on me perfectly and I wonder idly how he knew what sizes I wore. I toy with the idea of leaving the top button of the blouse open to show some skin but think better of it - that would be utterly indecent.

I'm covered in bruises in varying stages of repair. Purples and yellows mottle my skin, creating a disconcerting kaleidoscope of colors on my translucent skin. And I had thought Edward looked terrible. Pot, kettle.

We trudge through the corridor, down an elevator, and through a large atrium at my snail's pace. I wonder at Edward's extreme patience with my impression of a turtle. It can't be helped, I seem to get random aches and pains in this new battered version of my body and it hinders me. I'm so focused on putting one foot in front of the other that I don't notice it until I'm outside and the cool air is hitting my face.

Hot dogs. The bright blue and yellow umbrella of Sabrett's fluttering in the wind. Honking, rushing wind, busy people pushing past, and the unique low blaring tone of an ambulance in the distance. I falter then come to a complete stop. New York. We're back in New York.

My breath comes in gasps and I'm staggering back, away from the street. New York, New York, New York. Where he is. Where James is. Terror, huge and full rumbles up from my chest and I'm shaking. The sinister curve of a pleasant smile, hands locking on me caging me in, shimmering yellow light. No, no, no.

"Bella, Bella, Bella," Edward was saying. "It's alright. It's alright."

I can't make sense of his words. How can it be alright? Why would it be alright? I needed to get away - leave. Now! I start walking, stumbling blindly away. Run, run, run, run. I need to run!

I don't get far before strong arms are pulling me back, encircling me. A soft voice in my ear. "It's alright, Bella. There's nothing to fear, nothing. I will protect you."

I push him away, tears bursting in indignation. I hate that I'm crying. I don't want to look weak.

"What does that even mean?!" I shout. People are looking, staring as they pass by. I pay them no mind.

His eyes tighten and I can feel him retreating behind a wall. "Bella, this isn't the place."

"Ugh!" I shout in frustration and the words come out seething. "All these cryptic words. All these secrets and half truths. Do you have any idea what I've been through these past few days? And you've told me nothing. Nothing! Why are we here? What the hell happened? Who. Are. You?" My breath is ragged from effort and wet droplets streak down my cheeks but I don't care. I need answers.

"Bella, please." It's all he says. All he can say. And it's not enough.

"I'm leaving." I spit out. It comes out sharp, cutting, but I don't care.

He grabs my wrist gently, trying to pull me back but I don't let him.

"Just let me go, Edward," I say coldly. And amazingly his grasp loosens. I take the moment of hesitation to my advantage and I finally do what my body wants. I run.