Chapter 26: Pillar of Strength

Author's note: As I wrote this chapter, I gravitated to piano covers performed by Riyandi Kusuma. They added the backdrop of peace and serenity in the midst of the turmoil that answering questions can have on a victim. Some of the pieces I listened to were: "Love Story," "Perfect," and "Love Me Like You Do."

Bella

The tranquility of the morning was a fragile thing, I realized, as ephemeral as the steam rising from our mugs. Edward's eyes met mine, a silent conversation passing between us, one of comfort and shared solitude. It was a moment I wished could stretch on indefinitely.

But as fate would have it, our bubble of peace was destined to burst. The sharp rap on the front door echoed like a gunshot through the stillness of the room. Edward stiffened beside me, his body instinctively moving in front of mine, a protective barrier between me and whatever lay beyond.

I watched, my heart sinking, as he crossed the room and opened the door. Admiral Frakes stood there, his face a mask of official solemnity, flanked by two FBI agents whose stern expressions seemed out of place in the softness of our living space.

"Admiral Swan, we need to speak with you," Bo said, his voice carrying the weight of authority and an urgency I couldn't ignore.

The agents stepped inside, their eyes scanning the room, taking in every detail as if searching for clues in the very air we breathed. I felt exposed, vulnerable, the remnants of my hospital-induced anxiety creeping back with a vengeance. They needed my statement about what happened during my time with Jacob.

Edward's hand found mine again, squeezing gently, a reminder that I wasn't alone. "Of course," I replied, my voice steadier than I felt. "I'll do whatever I can to help."

I motioned to the living room, still transformed from last night's picnic. After we all settled, I turned my attention to the agents.

The agent's voice was formal, their demeanor professional yet not unkind. "Admiral," one agent began, but I cut them off before they could continue.

"Bella, please," I interjected, my voice firm. It was important to me that they saw me as a person, not just a title or a case file.

Their smile was meant to be reassuring, but it did little to quell the dread that was steadily rising within me. "Okay, Bella," they acquiesced, their tone shifting to one of gentle respect.

They laid out a series of photographs on the table as Edward moved back, each one featuring guys similar in build to Jacob. Jacob's face was among them. I felt Edward's disapproval before he even spoke, evident in the tightening of his hand and the way he shifted to look at me.

"No," he said simply, his voice low but filled with an undercurrent of tension. His eyes never left mine, a silent pledge that he would shield me from reliving the trauma, from the piercing gaze of those photographs that threatened to drag me back to that dark place.

The agent looked at him, their expression one of professional patience. "We need Bella to identify who took her," they explained, their gaze flicking back to me for confirmation. "And we understand that you are trying to protect her from further trauma…"

The agent trailed off as I glanced over at Edward, seeking the reassurance of his presence. He released my hand and leaned back against the loveseat cushion, a silent observer. His posture was a study in controlled strength. He crossed his arms over his chest, the lines of his body taut with the effort of restraint. His jaw was clenched, a testament to the frustration and anger, or was it fear, he was holding in check.

Despite his composed appearance, I could see the slight tremor in his hands, the only outward sign of the storm of emotions he was battling. It was a poignant reminder that he, too, was human, vulnerable to the chaos that had swept into our lives. In that brief glance, I saw the depth of his fear and his love, the fierce protectiveness that drove him. He was my rock, yes, but in that moment, he was also every bit as exposed as I was.

I longed to reach out, to address the silent struggle I knew he was enduring for my sake. But I also understood the importance of allowing him space to process his emotions in his own time. The conversation about his need to be strong for me, about the walls he built to protect us both, would come. For now, I simply reached back and squeezed his hand in silent acknowledgment of the front he put up for me, a wordless promise that I was there for him, just as he was for me.

"The agent is right. I have to do this, Edward," I said, my voice steady, a thread of steel woven through the words. I hoped he could hear the determination in my voice, see it in the set of my shoulders as I faced the agents.

His eyes met mine again, and for a moment, the world narrowed to the silent conversation between us. The tension in his body remained, a statue carved from worry and resolve, but there was a subtle shift in his posture. A slight nod, almost imperceptible, but it was there—an acknowledgment of my courage, a silent yielding to my decision. His support was the unspoken strength that bolstered my own, a silent promise that no matter the outcome, we would face it together.

Edward's hands unfolded from their tight clasp, falling to his sides in a gesture of reluctant acceptance. His jaw relaxed, just a fraction, but enough for me to recognize the effort it took for him to step back, to let me face this part of my trauma on my own terms.

The agents watched us, a respectful distance maintained, understanding the gravity of what was being asked of me. As I turned back to the table, to the photographs that held faces, one the vestige of my captor–of Jacob. I took a deep breath, drawing strength from Edward's unspoken support. His presence was a beacon, a steady light in the murky waters of my memory.

I didn't want to point directly at Jacob's picture. So I examined each in turn, picking up a few. I could feel Edward's gaze on me, a tangible touch filled with silent encouragement. It was all I needed to steady my trembling hands, to point of the image of the man who had wronged me, to reclaim the power he had stolen.

The other agent collected the pictures, placing the one of Jacob in the case file and the others in the enveloped. "Thank you," they said. "Do you mind answering a few questions?"

I took a steadying breath. The more I provided, the more likely Jacob would face prison time. Taking a few more breaths, I considered asking Edward to step out not because I didn't want him to know. I was concerned what knowing all the details would do to him. Then again, the not knowing might be even worse. "Edward, would you mind getting a glass of water?" I asked, turning to him.

"Of course. Please don't start until I get back," he requested.

With each question the agents asked, I could sense Edward's unease growing. I felt his anguish, a stark reminder of what he almost lost—me. He remained strong, embodying what he believed I needed. By the time the agents stood to leave, Edward was pacing behind the couch, a silent sentinel in the space just beyond my reach.

Bo remained with me as Edward showed the agents out. I was sitting my hands clasped tightly together, barely holding it together. My gaze shifted to him expectantly, already bracing for the conversation I knew was coming.

"How long are you relieving me of duty?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, preempting the inevitable.

"Two months," he answered, his sigh heavy with regret. "I wish it didn't have to, Bella."

"Protocols," I murmured, more to myself than to him. "You're just following their dictates, Bo. But two months? I thought the protocols stated a month." I brushed a shaky hand through my hair, a gesture so reminiscent of Edward that it brought a fresh wave of emotion.

"They also state it is a the discretion of a commander officer, that's me in this case."

I nodded. "It's seems like an eternity, Bo."

"I know, Bella. It's time to heal–physically, mentally, and emotionally. Time to see a therapist," he said, his eyes holding a fatherly concern, though he was only a few years my senior. "And you know that's in the protocols, too."

I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. "Will there be a reevaluation?" I managed to ask.

He drew in a deep breath, his shoulders rising and falling with the weight of his next words. "Depending on the therapist's report, yes. Whoever you choose to talk with has to sign off on you being fit for duty. And so do I."

I understood the necessity of protocol; they were safeguards, after all. "Fine, tentatively two months," I conceded, the words tasting bitter.

Bo's expression softened. "Is there anything you need?" he asked, his tone suggesting that the question went beyond the physical.

The concern in his voice was a small comfort, but it was a comfort nonetheless. It reminded me that, despite the isolation of my situation, I wasn't entirely alone.

"Yes," I answered, my thoughts turning to something I noodled over in the bath. "But it's not something I need, more something I need help with." I glanced at the living room entrance. I hoped he was taking a moment to gather himself. "Arrange another demonstration for Black Cat."

"Bella," Bo warned, his tone a low rumble of caution.

"I won't be participating this time, but I want Delta Squad involved," I said, my eyes closing for a moment as I gathered the shards of my strength. "However, I do want to speak." Hearing Edward's approach, I whispered, "I'll email you the reason later tonight."

Bo nodded, his expression unreadable. "I'll make a decision after I have your reason."