AN: Thank you everyone! See you at the bottom...

The repetitive beeps of the hospital monitors filled the private room with a monotonous beat that did nothing to soothe Edward's nerves. He sat close to Bella's bedside, leaning forward, his good arm balanced on his knees. His other arm was bound in a sling from the gunshot wound—yet another cruel reminder of what had happened. But every time Edward looked at Bella, the pain in his own shoulder felt trivial.

She was barely recognizable. Ugly purples and blues swollen her cheekbones, and dried blood still ringed her battered forehead despite the hospital staff's attempts to clean her up. Layers of fresh bandages covered the back of her head where surgeons had relieved pressure from internal bleeding. Her throat bore angry red welts and shallow cuts—wounds inflicted when one of Caius's men held a knife to her neck, threatening to end her life with one slip of the blade. The seatbelt from the explosion had left deep bruising across her chest and torso; the blast itself had knocked her unconscious, fracturing ribs and tearing her left shoulder from its socket.

Edward's gaze traveled down her body, cataloging every brutal injury he'd memorized from the doctors' reports: three broken ribs, a dislocated shoulder, multiple fractures in her left hand—the same hand she'd used to ward off blows before she was overpowered. Deep contusions spread across her back, and her arms were punctured with scrapes and bruises from being dragged and restrained. She seemed so small under the tangle of tubes and wires, yet the faint rise and fall of her chest reminded him she was alive.

He exhaled shakily, trying not to let his rage and guilt consume him. Memories of the explosion replayed in his mind: the blinding flash, the deafening roar, and Bella's scream torn away by the shockwave. In those few seconds, everything had spun out of control. She'd been thrown from the SUV and was already injured, dizzy with pain, when Caius's men seized her. Edward had been close—so damned close—but not enough to save her from what came next.

His hand hovered near Bella's, finally settling on her bruised knuckles with a feather-light touch. "I'm so sorry," he whispered. He swallowed hard, voice catching as he confessed to the air, "I should've done more. Should've gotten to you faster."

A soft knock at the door broke his spiral of regret. Edward looked up to see Solomon enter the room. The detective sergeant was usually a force of nature, but tonight there was exhaustion in his stooped shoulders and dark circles under his eyes.

"You holding up, Masen?" Solomon asked, low voice echoing among the beep of monitors. His gaze flicked to Edward's sling.

Edward only managed a slight shrug. "Nothing compared to her," he said, nodding at Bella.

Solomon sighed, drawing a chair to the opposite side of the bed. For a moment, his expression was distant, as if he were replaying his own tragedies. "She's tough," he murmured, letting his hand rest lightly on the rail of Bella's bed. "She'll pull through."

Edward gave a terse nod, eyes still fixed on Bella's pale face. Solomon leaned back, pressing his lips together before speaking in a hushed tone. "You know, this isn't my first time…" he began, voice faltering. "Isn't my first time sitting at a hospital bed, hoping..."

Edward glanced over, his brow furrowed.

"My wife, Lisa," Solomon continued, swallowing thickly. "Cancer. Ten years ago. Fought like hell, but it was a losing battle. She was the reason I got into this job in the first place… She believed in justice more than anyone I ever met." He paused, grief settling on his features. "Then, five years ago, my daughter, Emily. She'd just finished the academy. On her very first assignment—an undercover narcotics bust—things went sideways." He pressed a hand over his mouth momentarily, fighting to keep his composure. "She didn't make it out."

Edward's stomach twisted. He knew Solomon had lost family, but hearing it laid bare like this was soul-wrenching.

"Emily and Bella were tight," Solomon said quietly, taking a moment to steady his breath. "They trained together, kept each other on their toes. After Emily died, Bella was the one who stuck around, made sure I didn't lose my mind. She's become family—this entire unit has. You all are all I have left." His voice turned gravelly as he forced the next words out. "I thought... I was going to lose another one."

Edward's throat felt tight. He reached out, resting his good hand on Solomon's forearm. "Sarge," he said gently, "Bella's strong because you taught her to be. She survived an explosion, a kidnapping, and…this. She's alive, and she knows you've got her back. We all do."

Solomon nodded, his gaze shifting to Bella's slack features. "She's lucky to have you, Masen. Whether you realize it or not, you're good for her."

Edward was at a loss for words. Before he could respond, a low, rasping voice cut through the tension like a beacon.

"Damn right," Bella rasped, one bruised eyelid cracking open with a faint gleam. "Emily and I could run circles around you clowns any day."

Both men jolted, startled. Then Edward let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, relief flooding him so intensely his knees nearly buckled. He leaned closer, brushing Bella's hair away from her forehead with gentle fingers. "Bella," he breathed. "You scared the hell out of us."

A shaky grin tugged at Bella's lips. Her voice was barely above a whisper, but her sarcasm was intact. "You look like shit, Masen."

Despite himself, Edward gave a quiet chuckle, tears burning at the corners of his eyes. "You're one to talk," he fired back softly. "With all those stitches, you've got a real Frankenstein vibe going on."

Solomon exhaled a long, measured breath, relief etched into every line on his face. "How you holding up, kid?" he asked, trying to keep his tone light as he studied her injuries.

Bella shifted in the bed, grimacing as a jolt of pain lit up her battered ribs. But the defiant spark in her eyes was unwavering. "Oh, you know," she managed, "just another day at the office."

Edward bit back a pained laugh, brushing his thumb over Bella's bandaged hand. "Don't ever do that again," he murmured, half admonishing, half begging.

Her smirk flickered as she glanced at Solomon. "Wouldn't dream of it," she croaked, and though her voice was hoarse, the affection in her tone was clear.

Three Weeks Later

Bella sat perched on the edge of the couch, her shoulders taut and her hands clasped tightly in her lap. The soft drone of the air conditioner filled the quiet office, a backdrop to the growing pressure in her chest. Across from her, Dr. Kebi Mwangi sat in her usual calm demeanor, legs crossed, her notepad resting on her knee. The ticking clock on the wall marked the passing seconds, each one stretching out uncomfortably.

Bella shifted slightly, wincing as a sharp pain flared in her side. The ribs still hadn't fully healed, and every breath felt like it had to be measured. Her left arm, wrapped in a brace from her fractured hand, rested awkwardly against her thigh. She glanced down at her legs, where the mottled remains of deep bruising peeked out from beneath the cuff of her jeans. It was hard to sit still, the aches and stiffness a constant reminder of what she'd endured.

After a few moments of silence, Bella finally cleared her throat, her voice subdued. "I'm… not sure what I'm supposed to do here," she admitted. "Do I just… start talking?"

Dr. Mwangi's warm brown eyes met hers. "Why don't we start with what you hope to gain from these sessions?" she suggested, her tone inviting rather than probing.

Bella glanced at her hands, the knuckles still faintly bruised. "I need to be cleared for duty," she said, picking at a loose thread on the couch. "That's the main goal."

Kebi nodded, making a quick note. Bella's eyes flicked to the paper, but instead of snapping, she forced herself to take a breath. "I—sorry—what are you writing?"

She offered a gentle smile. "Just noting what you want— to return to active duty."

Bella exhaled, leaning back a little. "Right. That's what this is about."

"Why is getting back to work so urgent for you, Bella?"

Bella felt a flush creep up her neck. "Because it's my job," she said, her tone tentative rather than combative. "I'm a detective. I… catch the worst of the worst. And right now, I'm stuck at home."

Kebi set her notepad aside, focusing her full attention on Bella. "You've been through a life-altering trauma. You were abducted, beaten—nearly killed. Your body has endured serious injuries. Don't you think giving yourself space to recover—both physically and mentally—could help?"

"I just… I don't want to dwell on it," she confessed. "If I keep busy, it's easier not to think about everything."

Silence stretched for a moment. Then Kebi spoke, her voice low and calm. "Okay. When you're alone—when you're not in the middle of a case—what do you feel?"

Bella opened her mouth, but no words came out. Finally, she managed a shaky, "I don't know."

"Fear? Anger? Helplessness?" Kebi prompted gently.

Bella's nails dug into her palms. "I don't want to feel any of that," she whispered.

"So you bury it," Kebi observed. "You lose yourself in work because it's familiar. It's tangible. And everything that scares you waits in the shadows. But eventually, those feelings catch up."

Bella's throat constricted. "If I keep moving," she said, voice tight, "they can't catch me."

Kebi's gaze held genuine compassion. "What happens when you stop moving? When it's late, and it's quiet, and it's just you and your thoughts?"

Bella swallowed hard, forcing herself to meet the doctor's eyes. "I mean… I don't sleep, if that's what you're asking. Not much."

"And when you do?"

A flicker of pain crossed Bella's face. "Nightmares," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "I— I see them… the men who—" She paused, chest tightening. "It's like I'm right back there."

Kebi nodded. "That's common with trauma. But common doesn't mean we should ignore it. We have to process what happened, so it doesn't keep haunting you."

Bella let out a trembling breath. "Right. I just… I don't want to feel weak. I'm tired of feeling weak."

Kebi leaned forward, the leather of her chair creaking. "Recognizing trauma isn't a weakness, Bella. It's the first step to truly healing. It takes real courage to face what happened."

A sudden sting of tears blurred Bella's vision. She cleared her throat, her voice tight as she admitted, "I don't know where to start."

The therapist offered a reassuring smile. "You just did."

For the first time since she arrived, Bella allowed herself to feel a sliver of relief, a faint sense that maybe she could let her guard down. She inhaled slowly, some of the tension easing from her shoulders.

Kebi reached for her notepad but didn't write anything this time, simply folding her hands around it. "We'll work on this together, at your pace. You don't have to do it alone."

Bella nodded, tears threatening to spill again. "Okay," she whispered, nodding. "Okay."

When the session wrapped up, Bella stood, feeling drained—yet oddly lighter. The heavy cloak of denial that clung to her since the day of her rescue seemed just a bit thinner. A few steps closer to figuring out how to live with what she'd been through… and maybe one day, move past it.

…

Edward cut the engine and climbed out, circling the front of the car to open the passenger door as Bella exited the building. She raised a brow at him, but let him help her ease into the seat.

When he reached across her to fasten the seatbelt, she let out a quiet sigh. "I can buckle myself, you know," she said, not unkindly, but with a trace of irritation.

He paused, hand still hovering near the buckle. "Right," he murmured, stepping back. "Sorry."

She let out a soft exhale, sinking into the seat. "No, it's fine." Her fingers fumbled the buckle into place. "Thanks, though."

Edward shut the door gently, then circled to the driver's side. Once settled behind the wheel, he started the car. "How was it?" he asked, focusing on traffic as he pulled out of the parking lot. "Therapy, I mean."

Bella fixed her gaze out the window. "It was… fine."

The tightness around her mouth told him otherwise, but he didn't press. Therapy was its own beast, and he understood how much energy it took to walk through those doors in the first place.

"Fair enough," he replied, shifting gears. "I'm glad you went."

She didn't respond, instead letting the muted hum of the engine fill the space. After a moment, she turned to him. "How's your arm?"

He shrugged, casting her a quick glance. "Healing. Doctor says maybe another week of desk duty, then light fieldwork if all goes well."

Bella nodded, crossing her arms over her chest as though trying to keep from saying something more. "That's good," she finally offered.

They fell silent again, and Edward focused on the road until they neared her apartment building. He steered into a free spot along the curb and put the car in park, letting the engine idle. The streetlights buzzed overhead, casting a yellow glow on the damp pavement.

He cut the ignition and turned to Bella, his expression gentle. "Want me to walk you up?"

She hesitated, glancing at the front doors of her building. "I'm good," she said at last, reaching for the handle. "Thanks for the ride."

Edward watched her slip out of the car, his concern unspoken but evident in the tight set of his jaw. He wasn't ready to just let her go alone—still, he respected her need for space. "Call me if you need anything," he said through the open window.

Bella looked back, her eyes meeting his. "I will." A small, appreciative smile tugged at her lips. "See you tomorrow."

He nodded, waiting until she disappeared inside. Then his gaze shifted to the inconspicuous sedan across the street. The silhouette in the driver's seat offered a curt nod—one of Solomon's plainclothes officers assigned to watch Bella's place around the clock, ensuring Caius or his men didn't strike again. Edward lifted a hand in silent acknowledgement.

His stomach twisted at the reminder of why they still needed protection. He started the engine, casting one last look at the entrance to Bella's building. Satisfied she was safely inside, he pulled away, the tension in his shoulders refusing to ease.

…

Edward's arrival at the precinct was met with the usual swirl of energy: phones ringing off the hook, the chatter of officers conferring over maps and digital readouts, and the occasional slam of a desk drawer. Despite his arm still being bound in a sling, he felt an immediate jolt of adrenaline just stepping through those familiar glass doors.

"Morning, Masen," came a voice from behind him. Edward glanced over his shoulder to see Alice, coffee cup in hand. She gave him a sympathetic nod toward the sling. "You doing okay?"

He managed a grin. "Better than I was. One-handed typing skills are off the charts now."

She chuckled, then gestured for him to follow. "C'mon. Solomon and the others are in the briefing room. We've got a new lead on that arms trafficking ring."

Edward's gut tightened. He fell into step behind her, ignoring the dull ache that flared in his shoulder. He'd had enough of just "resting" at home. Even if it was strictly desk duty, he wanted back in on the action.

Jasper was on the phone, speaking in hushed tones, while Jacob and Rosalie hovered over a city map pinned to a corkboard. A half-dozen red pins dotted various Seattle locations, lines of string connecting them to photos of known suspects and shell casings.

Emmett looked up from a pile of evidence bags when he caught sight of Edward. He offered a quick salute with a grin. "Welcome back, hero. Ready to guard the desk like a champ?"

Edward rolled his eyes, though his lips twitched with amusement. "Better than nothing."

Before he could say more, Solomon strode into the room, addressing them all in his low, commanding tone. "Gather up. We've got a new development on the Evergreen Crescent gun-runners."

Alice handed Edward a file as they joined the group around the board. He opened it carefully, scanning typed reports with bullet points about stolen military-grade firearms, sightings of shady cargo deliveries at the port, and possible local buyers.

Solomon tapped a photo tacked on the board—a grainy still from a security camera. "This is Kazuo Ito, mid-level broker. We believe he's funneling illegal guns through the harbor into the city, possibly for multiple gangs. The pattern suggests he's escalating shipments."

Jacob chimed in, arms crossed over his broad chest. "We've got a potential handoff happening tomorrow night near Pier 46. A known associate of Ito's, Samuels, was spotted there twice last week. We need eyes on that location."

Solomon's gaze swept the room. "We'll coordinate with Harbor Patrol, but I want our team taking point. Emmett, Rosalie, you'll handle reconnaissance. Jasper, coordinate with the local PD for additional backup. Alice—work your digital magic; see if any phone pings link Ito's burner phones to the docks."

Everyone nodded, making mental notes. Then the sergeant's attention shifted to Edward. "Masen, you'll be handling intel from here. No fieldwork," he added, raising a brow as if expecting an argument.

Edward shrugged, an attempt at nonchalance despite his frustration. "Understood. I'll run search queries, monitor radio chatter, anything you need."

A flicker of sympathy crossed Solomon's face. "Good. We can't afford missteps on this one."

As the team dispersed, Jasper approached Edward. "Hey, you sure you're okay? I know it's hard being stuck behind a desk."

Edward pulled in a breath, wincing at the pull in his shoulder. "I'd be lying if I said it's easy. But it's better than being at home, doing nothing."

Jasper nodded. "We'll get them, man. And then, soon as you're cleared, you'll be right back out there with us."

With that, Edward slipped into his cramped desk station. He booted up his computer, carefully maneuvering his sling so it wouldn't jostle his injured shoulder. Stacks of intel reports awaited him—summaries of shipping manifests, flagged text messages intercepted by the tech team, and cameo appearances by known criminals. It wasn't glamorous, but it was crucial, especially with Ito's network expanding so fast.

He keyed in a series of requests for port security footage, scanning for suspicious container activity tied to Ito's associates. As he sifted through spreadsheets and timestamps, he spotted a pattern matching prior arms deals: certain shipments had been re-routed or delayed just long enough to avoid random checks.

Emmett drifted by a little later, dropping off a flash drive. "Here's everything from Harbor Patrol's side. Think you can cross-reference schedules with that new tip we got?"

"On it," Edward replied, sliding the flash drive into his workstation.

The hours passed in a blur of incoming data and phone calls. Periodically, Edward stood to stretch out his stiff shoulder, offering small updates to the group scattered around the room. Each time he moved, the sling reminded him of what he couldn't do—at least for now. But he stayed focused, determined to pull his weight.

Late into the afternoon, he compiled a detailed summary of possible meeting points along the waterfront and handed it to Solomon. The sergeant studied the document, nodding in approval. "Good work, Masen. This is exactly the intel we need."

Edward gave a tight smile. Despite the twinge of longing for the field, this sense of purpose—in helping track Ito's operations—sparked a familiar rush. Desk duty or not, he was back in the game.

…

The precinct had quieted by the time the team started to disperse, at nearly midnight. Doubles were never fun. The faint hum of computers and the occasional shuffle of papers were the only sounds that accompanied the exhausted goodnights exchanged across the squad room. Solomon gave a curt nod to each team member as they filtered out.

"Good job today, guys. Get some rest," Solomon said, running a hand over his jaw.

"Night, boss," Jacob muttered, giving a half-hearted wave as he walked out with Jasper.

Rosalie and Emmett followed, Rosalie tossing her coffee cup into the trash. "See you in a few hours," she called over her shoulder, her tone dry.

Edward hung back, watching them go before grabbing his coat from the back of his chair. He gave a quick nod to Alice, who was still typing away. "You heading out soon?" he asked.

Alice shrugged without looking up. "In a bit. I want to finish running this last search."

Edward shook his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Of course you not to sleep under your desk again."

Alice snorted softly, her focus never wavering.

As he stepped out, he pulled out his phone, sending a quick text to Bella.

Edward: Just leaving. Hope you're sleeping well...

To his surprise, her response came almost immediately.

Bella: Still awake.

The corners of his mouth quirked upward. Without thinking, he tapped her name and called. The line barely rang twice before she picked up.

"Hey," Bella answered, her voice light.

"Hey," Edward replied, his tone softening. "You good?"

"Yeah," Bella said, crunching on something. "Just me, the couch, and more bad TV than I know what to do with. Might as well marry the remote at this point."

Edward chuckled. "Sounds serious. Should I be jealous?"

"Oh, definitely," Bella deadpanned. "It's a committed relationship now. Speaking of which, I'm about to heat up a burrito. Real fancy living."

Edward groaned dramatically. "A burrito at this hour? You're better than this, Swan."

Bella laughed, a sound that made Edward's chest tighten in a good way. "Well, thanks for the support, Masen."

They exchanged goodnights, but as Edward hung up, an idea was already forming. He slipped into his car and drove toward Frankie's, grateful for their 24-hour service. The small burger joint glowed warmly in the dark, a beacon for late-night cravings. He pulled up to the drive-thru and ordered Bella's usual: a burger with extra pickles and onion rings.

Fifteen minutes later, Edward was back on the road, the smell of fresh food filling his car. He parked outside Bella's apartment and stepped out, taking a detour to the unmarked patrol car stationed nearby. A different officer sat inside, sipping coffee and scrolling on his phone.

Edward rapped lightly on the window. The officer looked up, then nodded, rolling it down slightly.

"All good here," Edward said. "You're relieved."

The officer gave him a lazy salute, then pulled out of the parking spot, leaving Edward to make his way to Bella's door. He knocked lightly, hearing the faint sound of movement inside. A moment later, the lock clicked, and Bella opened the door, her face lighting up when she saw him.

"You didn't," she said, her gaze flicking to the bag in his hand.

Edward held it up, his grin matching hers. "I did."

Bella stepped aside to let him in, closing the door behind him. "Detective Masen bringing me late-night burgers? Should I be worried about you?"

He smirked, setting the bag on her small dining table. "You said burrito. I couldn't let you stoop that low."

Bella shook her head, amused, as she sat across from him. "Wow. You are…insane."

They unpacked the food, the warm aroma filling the small apartment. Bella grabbed a burger and took a big bite, sighing contentedly.

"This," she said, her mouth half-full, "is what I needed. Thanks, Masen."

Edward unwrapped his own burger, leaning back in his chair. "Don't mention it. Thought I'd save you from a lifetime of bad TV and frozen burritos."

Bella grinned. "You're a hero."

They ate in companionable silence for a while, the events of the day easing in the warmth of each other's company. Eventually, Bella glanced at him, her tone turning teasing. "So, the cop outside my apartment. Still here?"

Edward froze for a split second before recovering, a sheepish smile creeping onto his face. "What cop?"

Bella raised an eyebrow, giving him a knowing look. "Come on, Edward. I'm a detective. I notice things."

He sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Fine. Solomon's orders. He's just being cautious."

Bella rolled her eyes. "It's unnecessary."

Edward shrugged. "Tell that to Solomon."

When they finished eating, Edward had stretched out on her couch, his eyes growing heavy. Bella sat on the armrest, looking down at him with a small smile.

"You're going to crash here, aren't you?" she asked.

Edward mumbled something unintelligible, his eyes already closing. Bella chuckled softly, draping a blanket over him before retreating to her bedroom. For the first time in days, the weight of their lives seemed a little lighter.