#i laughed so hard when he said shiny lockpicks

[amozon28]

Sebastian trying to woo Elaine after chapter 71 like

[katharaya]

Their apartment on Mulch Road is . . . honestly, it's too generous to call it an apartment. It's barely a room. It's barely a closet, even—tiny beyond miserable measure, forcing them to squeeze around each other in a miserable box of four walls that do little to keep out the damp and the cold and miserable fucking rain. The windows, kept permanently shuttered against the elements, let in only slivers of the gray dawn light.

Aeran rolls over on his makeshift bed, the wooden floorboards pressing hard against his shoulder through the thin layers separating him from the floor. Their room, much like their last six months in Rona, is dank and cold and miserable, miserable, miserable, and—

And less than an arm's length away—their sleeping pallets overlap when spread out for the night; that's how ridiculously tiny their stupid closet is—Sana lies on her side facing him, her breathing slow and gentle in the soft dark.

And—

Even here, where the damp seeps in through the waterlogged walls and the stench of muck and decay permeate the air and a fatal deadline hangs over their heads; even here, in this wretched hellpit of a city—

—even here, she still glows like the sun.

. . . And that's the stupidest thought he's had so far today, and it's barely even morning, so he's got plenty more time to think of something even stupider, which is itself not an encouraging thought.

And he is, regrettably, something of a dreamer in the early hours before the sun rises.

And she is still wearing his pendant.

Got it as a bonus on an assignment, he'd told her, one of the rare occassions they'd crossed paths. Don't really have a use for it besides selling it. Thought maybe you'd like to have it.

Which was—true, to an extent.

But the reality was this: he'd been offered his pick of trinkets and treasures—ruby rings and emerald pins and diamond diadems worth twice their weight in gold—

And underneath it all he'd found a simple golden necklace, probably the cheapest of the lot, with a small piece of polished amber set into a pendant wrought in the shape of a sun. And as soon as he'd seen it, he'd thought, Oh.

Sunny should have this.

So he'd taken it and carried it around in his pocket for . . . a year, maybe more, until they happened to bump into each other in some backwater town beplagued by some unmemorable beast.

"You're giving me a necklace?" she'd asked, bewildered, the golden chain dangling from her fingers as she'd examined it.

"If you want it," he'd said, shrugging all nonchalant, and gods, he'd felt so young in that moment, stupid and reckless and hopeful all at once.

(He was young. It was before the Spire fell.)

"What for? Does it turn into a backup weapon? A lockpick? Can I open it up and hide poisons in it?"

He rolls his eyes, so stupidly, unbearably fond. "It's a necklace, Sassy, you wear it and look pretty, or whatever."

"Excuse you," she'd said, grinning. "I am already the pinnacle of beauty and grace, thank you."

And he'd laughed, warmth bubbling something ticklish in his chest, and his answer had come from the heart: "Of course you are, Sanni."

And they'd parted ways, like always, and then the Spire fell and the world went to shit and stayed shit until he'd found her again, his Sunny, and she'd still been wearing the necklace.

"Did you ever get to do anything with it?" he'd asked. "Maybe hide a poisoned needle in it or something?"

She'd touched the pendant briefly where it rested over her heart. "Still thinking about it," she'd said, and grinned. "But it does make me feel pretty and fancy."

And somehow, years later, she still has it. Honestly, it's something of a miracle that she hasn't lost it yet here in Rona, with all the pickpockets who'd steal a tin can if it was shiny enough.

(And here's another stupid thought: Maybe those kinds of tiny miracles will be enough to see them through.)

Sana stirs beside him, finally, cracking an eye open just as the daylight outside gets bright enough for her human eyes to see properly. It's their last day in Rona, for sure. Whether or not they find the Count's chalice, they won't be staying here longer than they already have.

"Hey," she says, a sleepy smile quirking her mouth.

"Hey."

"Big day today."

He snorts. "Long as it ends with us out of this shithole, I'm not complaining."

"Careful what you wish for," she says, stretching out on her pallet with her arms above her head. "But come on. Best get an early start."

He watches her out of the corner of his eye as they prepare to head out. She still looks so damn bright.

(Guess he hasn't completely shaken off his early morning dreamer, yet.)

"Are you coming or do I have to leave you behind until your brain wakes up?" she asks, with one hand on the doorpost and a foot already out the door.

He snaps himself out of it; slipping easily into his waking Wayfarer self, casual and collected and very much not in love with his best friend, thank you. He slings his bow across his back and smirks. "As if you could get rid of me so easily."

And she snorts, amused, before she tilts her chin up, a smug smile tugging at her mouth, and says, "As if I'd want to."

The look on his face must be something to see, because she laughs, and winks, and then disappears down the hall.

And Aeran stands there for a moment, stunned, before he allows himself a wild, dreamer's grin, and follows her out the door.

[isabellaflynns]

The Dream House | Chatzy

Summary: Edward wakes up to a nightmare, and Isabella is not herself Trigger warnings: Drugging, kidnap Written by: @riddle-me-that and @isabellaflynns

Isabella: She'd had to drug Edward again. Though Isabella hated doing it, there was no other option. Once she'd taken him his bedroom, awkwardly changed his pyjama shirt (so that he wasn't lying in bloodstained clothes) and restrained him to the bed, she’d checked her watch and saw that he would be waking in a few hours. That didn't give her enough time to get everything ready! So, she'd reached into her pocket, pulled out the syringe, and injected it into his arm quickly. He'd looked so peaceful lying there, breathing evenly. She'd allowed herself the luxury of just watching him sleep for a few moments, before getting on with the tasks at hand.

First, before leaving their house, she’d bandaged her knife wound. It would need stitching, but there were more pressing things to take care of. She simply covered it to stop it bleeding. The last thing she needed was more blood to clean up.

Driving to Oswald's took less than ten minutes. It was the early hours of the morning, and she met little traffic. She'd half-expected to see the Penguin himself, standing on his own front doorstep with a shotgun, but the house was as deserted as she'd left it. She'd retraced her own steps through the hallway and to the kitchen, where she could fully appreciate the mess Edward had left her with. There was a small puddle of shiny red blood on the kitchen floor, and Edward had somehow smeared it onto the table he’d backed into. It was so clearly deliberate that she was almost angry at him, but she was too preoccupied with what she had to do to focus on anger.

She'd made a small cup of washing detergent and warm water, and found Oswald's cleaning supplies under the sink. On all fours, she'd viciously scrubbed the blood off the tiles, and then wiped it from the table hurriedly. The knife, which Edward had used to stab her, was lying on the floor where he'd dropped it. Quickly washing it free of redness, and scrubbing it for good measure, Isabella had placed it back in the knife block.

Taking the stairs two at a time, she'd arrived at Edward's bedroom. It was impossible to think of it as Edward and Oswald’s bedroom. She’d opened the closets and drawers, taken Edward's suits, pyjamas, casual wear, and underwear, and shoved them all into her duffel bag, making a mental note to iron them at home. And then she'd grabbed a suitcase from the back of the closet, and filled it with other necessary items. Bottles of medication, ablutions, books. Once both bags were packed, she double-checked the room, and then left, carefully closing the door behind her.

She barely noticed the drive home. All she could think was he's there, he's there he's there. And, dashing upstairs to his bedroom, she had dropped both bags on the floor and just smiled at the sight of her Edward, right where she'd left him, still sleeping soundly. Now, all she had to do was unpack, and wait for him to wake up.

One by one, she took his suit jackets from the bag, and felt along their hems, and checked inside them for hidden pockets, searching for weapons. In almost every single one, she found something. A lockpick, a switchblade, a knife. She confiscated each weapon with a quiet tut. What was he like? So paranoid.

Once the clothes were all clean, she took the small arsenal to the kitchen, and then returned to his bedroom and began hanging his suits in the closet. It wouldn't be long now. Edward would wake up soon. Singing softly to herself, Isabella smoothed the lapel of Edward’s green jacket. “Moon river... Wider than a mile... I'm crossing you in style... Someday…”

Edward: He felt awfully numb as he began to wake up, eyes still closed shut. His throat feeling scratchy from dehydration and his body still heavy from sleep. He could hear a beautiful song from just beyond his headspace. Not really putting together the lyrics quite yet. It was mostly just a pretty rhythm to him. He almost convinced himself to just go right back to a deep sleep like before but his throat was bugging him too much and his head felt odd and fuzzy. Was he sick? Did he have a temperature? Maybe if he cuddled up close to Oswald and whined to him his boyfriend would get up to grab some water for him. But Ed was having a tough time moving. It was like every part of his body had fallen asleep and moving, though he could do it was difficult.

He let out a very small moan, as though that was supposed to let Oswald know that he wanted something, but there was no sound back... usually he could hear Oswald's breathing if he listened close enough. Or his snoring when he was really out... but there was none of that. Was Oswald not in bed with him? He finally tried to move his hands a bit so he could check out Oswald's side but it was like they were stuck in one spot. He couldn't understand it.

Ed opened his eyes slowly, the light of the morning making him close them right back again. He let out a quiet yawn and lazily stretched out his legs. Waiting for himself to wake up a little more, but his body was a little less responsive than usual. Like he was still supposed to be sleeping and his foggy, confused brain wasn't getting the memo. The singing had stopped, he noticed how it paused and missed the sweet sounds of that lullaby. Until it clicked in Ed's head... That was a female voice.

Startling himself with that fact, he tried opening his eyes again. Squinting a bit from the light but still awake, staring at an old, popcorn ceiling. This wasn't right... Oswald's house was more modern then this. This was wrong. It was like someone took him in the middle of the night and dumped him in some farm house.

Wait.

That was exactly what that was like. He vaguely recalled the struggle as she used a chloroform covered cloth to knock him out. He looked around the room until he spotted her. Isabella. Ed let out a breathy, weak gasp at the sight of his old lover turned enemy... Putting his clothes away like they still lived together. Is this real? He thought to himself as he tugged again on his hands. They felt stuck, still. He glanced dizzily around the room. Trying to get a clue of where he was. Gasping again when he saw the bag and suitcase on the floor. "Wha–?" He got out quietly, clearly confused. His voice was scratchy and quiet. He sounded clueless when he spoke and probably looked even more so. Still having a tough time keeping his eyes open as he very clumsily attempted to sit up. Failing immediately. He moaned again, this time a bit louder. "... What? Where–" He let out a soft panicked noise. He was still having a difficult time moving... like he was... like he was just sedated. "Why do I feel like this…?"

Isabella: The moment she heard Edward gasp, Isabella knew he was coming to, and she turned to him and gasped, and immediately put the jacket in the closet so that she could focus all her attention on him. "You're awake!" she cried, and she couldn't help but clap excitedly and laugh to herself, though he wasn't technically fully awake yet. His eyes were only slightly open, and he looked sleepy and confused.

Goodness, she had always loved him when he was just waking up, or just about to fall asleep. When he was dazed and not at his full mental capacity, blinking slowly, frowning in his endearing way. He pulled at the handcuffs, clearly not quite aware yet. It was adorable to see him like this, still tangled in the web of sleep, his senses dulled by the sedative, and Isabella felt such an overwhelming wave of adoration that it made her chest ache.

"Oh, no, no, no, darling," she said quickly, as he tried to sit up. "Don't try to move yet. You're still groggy from the drugs." She knew Edward. If he kept trying to pull at the handcuffs, and realised he couldn't move too suddenly, then he would panic, and it would spoil his arrival. And everything had to be perfect. But, now that he was slowly waking up, she was suddenly overwhelmed. What could she say? He wanted to know why he felt so dazed, and she wasn't proud of what she'd had to do to him, but he had a right to know. Oh, but starting with the fact he'd been drugged was horrible.

So instead, she didn't answer, and spoke in a gentle, soothing, voice. "Don't panic, Eddie. You're safe. You'll come to slowly. You might feel a little dizzy, and have a headache, but it'll wear off soon." How she had missed this. Comforting him. Talking softly to him. She just looked at him fondly for a few seconds, savouring this time before he was fully with her, when he was still muddled and so cute. "Just lie still."

She so badly wanted to show him the room, to explain how she was going to alphabetise his books by author's surname, and hang his suits according to their colours, and where she'd found the furniture. She wanted to tell him everything about their new home, but she knew she had to hold off. He wouldn't take it in when he was in this state. Her first and most important job was making sure he woke up feeling relaxed and safe. There was time to show him everything later.

Edward: Ed listened to the other's excitement. She cried out loudly and he grimaced at the sound of her shrill voice. What he was feeling was odd nonetheless... but with the memories of last night crawling back to him, Edward looked away from her. Looking at the back wall. The room was familiar and yet... not. He tugged again at his hands, wanting to put one on his forehead but again getting stopped. Why was he stuck? Ed let out a frustrated whimper and tugged again. "Iss... why am I tied up?" He got out, turning his head to look at her again.

The drugs? "Dr-drugs...? Drugs, plural?" He gave her another hard blink, trying to pull himself together some more. He needed his brain to work again. It felt as though he just came out of a deep sleep... like he was out for 5 months. Well... it was a lot better than that was... but he could draw a few comparisons. "What did you give me?" He asked, his voice slurring at he spoke. "Nothing... nothing lethal?" He asked, though it didn't seem like she would do that. It did feel like he was dying. A little.

She was telling him that he was safe and using these sweet pet names but it was hard to believe after she had just drugged him and kidnapped him from his home. He looked around again and his eyes finally caught the clue. The green question marks painted on the wall. His wallpaper... This was...

"My safehouse...?" He murmured, "Wh-why here?" He asked her. Well aware that he was asking a lot of questions but he couldn't help it. It was like he was re-booting. Trying to gather as much information as he could. Who knew, maybe she'd try to put him back asleep in a little while... he didn't have any time to waste. "I am layin' still..." He told her. She wasn't kidding about the dizziness and the headache. He moaned again and gave her a look like he was uncomfortable or in pain.

"What are you goin' to do to me...?" He asked, while he was slowly recovering.

Isabella: Iss. Edward slurred her nickname, and Isabella almost clapped again, but she refrained. He was clearly lost, and, as overwhelmingly endearing as it was, she couldn't just focus on that. She had to keep him calm, which meant not revelling in how cute he was, confused and befuddled. He blinked slowly at her, and she smiled. "I'm sorry, my love. It's necessary. Please stop struggling. You'll only exhaust yourself.” He was obviously getting frustrated by not being able to move – he kept pulling at the cuffs – and she hated seeing him struggle like that. Restraining him seemed pointless right now, given how groggy he was, but when he woke up fully, he might do something impulsive, and this was the easiest way to stop him.

As much as he was struggling to talk, she patiently waited for him to form sentences. It was heart-warming to see him slowly pulling words out of his head, fighting his own sleepiness to communicate with her. The words were thick with sleep, but his worry was clear. "Yes, plural," she said gently. "It wasn't lethal! Of course it wasn't. It was just Flunitrazepam, to keep you asleep, while I tidied everything away." Did he honestly believe she would inject him with something lethal? He was still sleepy, she reasoned. He wasn't in his right mind yet. These questions were the product of pieces of his consciousness floating together as he slowly dragged himself out of sleep. This was the tired ramblings he used to spout when he first woke up, with the added fact that he was adorably confused.

Watching his eyes roam around the room, watching him realise that they were in his safehouse, was a genuine treat. She'd forgotten how amazing it was to see him work things out. Even in his drug-addled state, he was still so wonderfully sharp. Isabella felt so proud when he murmured that he was in his safehouse. Goodness, he'd figured it out so quickly! Of course, the wallpaper was telling. As much as she'd wanted to take it down, because it ruined the aesthetic of the room, she'd left it up for him. It was one of the few personal things there before she'd decorated, and it was so Edward that she'd allowed it.

And then, predictably, he asked more questions, and she was so happy she wanted to laugh again. She had always loved it when he asked her questions, because it was so rare, and now she was more than happy to answer. This wasn't a difficult question, and she was thrilled to explain everything to him. "That's right, it's your safehouse," she said, her voice brimming with pride. "It's such a lovely building. We just had to stay here! It's perfect!"

She was about to elaborate, to explain how she’d fallen in love with the farmhouse as soon as she’d entered it, and she just knew, when she was thinking of a potential home for them, that this was the ideal place. It was away from the city, so they weren’t disturbed by neighbours and traffic, and they could finally be alone. It looked like it had been plucked from her own imagination. Why here? Goodness, why not here?

But then he asked her what she was going to do with him, and everything she’d been about to say died on her lips. She blinked at him, and tilted her head to the side. "Do to you?" she asked. "I'm not going to do anything to you, Eddie. I know I had to knock you out. And I'm so sorry for that. But it was the only way I could get you here. You were in such a state." She paused, and just watched him for a few seconds, quite content to stand there and stare, still trying to get her head around the fact that her one true love was here, right in front of her again. "I'm not going to harm you, my love. Please don't be scared," she said, though she hated having to reassure him. She had to put her own feelings aside. He was confused. She had to be here for him.

Edward: Stop struggling? She was asking him to stop struggling...? Did she expect that he would be fine with being handcuffed? There was absolutely nothing Edward hated more than being tied down and trapped in one area. Stuck in his own brilliant mind with nowhere else to go. He frowned to her, knowing she was unlikely to change her mind. Especially not right away, Ed would have to wear the woman down into letting him out. He was in his safehouse. The one on the outskirts of the city, out of NY and in a calm and peaceful area. He knew she took him there so that he couldn't call or scream for help hoping someone would hear and come to help him. If he was going to escape, then he would have to come up with a proper plan.

Edward knew where the house was located but that wasn't the only thing he knew. He also knew this place from the inside out. He knew his safehouse and the secret hiding places inside of it. Just down the hall was a closet where he had kept a small gun. It was hidden inside of the wall and he doubted that she found it. If he could get out of the cuffs, maybe through sweet talking or through other means, then he could get out of the room and into that closet where he had the weapon. Then he could defend himself. Shoot her in the spine and temporarily paralyze her... steal her car and make a run for it.

His thoughts were interrupted by Isabella's voice explaining what drug she used to take him out. "That's not so bad... but... you won't do it again will you?" He was slowly coming too, but he decided to keep up the act a bit that he was still not so awake. He was tired and dizzy anyway, so the act wasn't hard. Isabella would treat him kinder if she thought he was worse than he really was and he needed all the kindness the insane woman could spare, if he was being honest with himself.

She seemed far too happy and excitable for a kidnapper. Overjoyed to have him with her, like she couldn't stop smiling for the life of her. That real, sweet smile too. The one he used to fawn over. He sighed softly as she told him he was right. Of course he was right... he knew this room, even with all the new decor. "... We..." He repeated quietly. It was like she was saying he had a choice in the matter. That they moved in together willingly and happily. As if they were married and this was their first home. His skin crawled as he began to really realize how far gone this woman was and how much danger he could be in really...

Her next words merely cemented the danger for Ed. She was reassuring him, calling him pet names when they weren't even together. He hated this... "You didn't have to knock me out." He corrected. "You... you didn't have to take me here, Isabella. You chose to. You chose to hurt me and then steal me away and tie me to a bed... do you really not see how bad this looks?" He quizzed her, trying to be as gentle as he could. Ed preferred this side of her to the other side. "... I am... scared. I can't help it. You hurt me before, you could do it again... even accidentally. You don't know your own strength..."

Isabella: Isabella didn't want to lie to Edward, but she knew that telling him the truth – that she might have to drug him again if the situation called for it – would only panic him. He was still sleepy, but relatively calm, and she didn't want to distress him. She bit her bottom lip, her excitement at having him here temporarily waning. "I don't want to do it again," she said truthfully. "But it depends on how you are, darling." The thought of drugging him again was upsetting, because it would mean he was hysterical or scared, but it also didn't seem very likely. He was still waking up, but he hadn't yet shouted or struggled beyond what was to be expected. Drugging him again was a last resort but, so far, it didn't seem like she would have to.

He whispered we and it distracted her from the worrisome thoughts about sedating him. It made her stomach flutter to hear him use the plural pronoun, softly, as if he was testing it out. Goodness, she wanted him to say it again. To refer to them together, as a couple, the way it should be.

Now that he didn't seem so restless, Isabella walked around the corner of the bed slowly, careful not to startle him, and sat down on the end of it. As he spoke, she watched him, just taking in everything he said. He used her full name, the way he knew she adored, and she blinked. The urge to reach out and run her fingertips down his arm, to stroke his hair, to just touch him again, was so overwhelming that she had to clutch her hands together. He was so close. It was like being near a beautiful edition of a book, with deckled edges and a clothbound cover, so wonderfully tactile, with everything in her aching to feel it. But she managed to stop herself.

"I... I did have to," she argued. He sounded so gentle, so patient, just like he used to when he was explaining something complicated to her. It was confusing. He only ever spoke to her like that when she was wrong, and she wasn't wrong. He was. He didn't understand. "I had to knock you out because you wouldn't come. I tried to tell you. And I didn't choose you hurt you. You're just so fragile." This wasn't a conversation she wanted to have, even though she'd guessed it might. But now that it was happening, and he was looking right at her, she wanted it to stop. Her giddy thrill was fading, and it was being replaced with an unsettling sensation.

"And I had to tie you down, my love," she said, focusing on what she knew to be true. Using his nickname grounded her. It reminded her, instantly, of why she had to do this. Just because Edward was stating things as if they were facts, one after the other, that didn't mean he was correct. "You're flighty. You know you are. If I didn't restrain you, you would have done something silly. It's only temporary. Until you've settled in." She met his gaze, and silently implored him to understand. He was afraid now, but he wouldn't be scared forever. She just had to be patient.

"I won't hurt you. Not even accidentally," she twisted her fingers together, still resisting the bone-deep urge to touch him. But she couldn't. Not after he'd just said he was scared. She had to deny herself, for his sake. "I'm not going to touch you, so I can't damage you." She said it for herself as much as him, as a promise to herself not to lay her hands on him unless it was absolutely necessary.

Edward: Ed took in a deep breath, thinking about how much he would like to yell at her for this. How much he wanted to scream that he hated her. That he didn't want to be there, but he couldn't. He had to remain calm. If he didn't, he would be drugged again. Even with his head aching and his body sore and stiff. Recovering from being sedated by her. She had to restrain him with cuffs and she had the gall to act lovingly towards him. As if this was normal and they were in love. He moved his hands once again. Uncomfortable in this spot that he was forced to be.

Edward watched his old love carefully as she made her way around the bed some. Taking a seat at the foot of the bed and staring at him with this weird sense of longing and... love. He felt sickened by it. How could she do this to him if she looked at him like that? Didn't she know that keeping him there was hurting him? It certainly wasn't helping. Sure, his physical health wasn't so bad off currently but he didn't imagine mentally he would be alright after who knows how long she'd have him trapped in one room. Not to mention the impracticalities that came with all of this. Did she even think this through?

He frowned when she told him that she had to. She wasn't listening to him at all. She didn't see how insane this all was... how could she not see how insane this was? She was far gone. "You didn't," he argued back. "You didn't have to take me at all. You didn't need to do this..." He bit his lip. Trying to force himself to stop talking because if he let himself talk more he might get more snappy with her. He looked away from her for a moment. "I don't want to be here, Isabella. Why are you doing this, really? I don't understand what this is supposed to be. Why are you keeping me?"

She said my love and he shuddered. She didn't seem to be letting up at all. "Okay..." He said quietly. He couldn't argue with that, he would run if he could. In fact he was already planning on running. "How long are we staying here?" He finally asked. He didn't believe her for a second when she said she wouldn't hurt him. Even accidentally. Like he said earlier, she didn't know her own strength. He sighed when she continued. Talking about how she wouldn't touch him. So at least there was that. "...Thank you." He said after a long pause. "I don't want to be touched right now."

Isabella: The fact that Edward was saying she didn't need to do this proved that he didn't understand. If that wasn't so unusual and endearing, Isabella would have been annoyed. How could he be in such denial? But it was so rare for Edward to not understand something that it was more cute than irritating. Besides, it was quite common for him to not understand emotions, and she'd had to be patient with him before. It was unfair of her to expect him to wake up, still confused from the drugs, and be immediately on board with this. He needed time to acclimatise, time away from Oswald, to remember that how much he loved her.

He said he didn't want to be there, and it made her heart tighten. Even though she knew it, hearing him say it was still horrible. She paused, allowing the pain of his words to wash over her before speaking. "I know you don't want to be here. But you will. You just need time." Again, she had to stop herself from reaching out and stroking his hair comfortingly. But it wouldn't be comforting, would it? He didn't want her to touch him. This was going to be more difficult than she'd anticipated. With difficulty, she kept her hands in her lap, and clenched them into fists. Think about him, she told herself, sharply.

It could be worse. He was calm and breathing evenly. In fact, all things considered, he was doing remarkably well. He hadn't brought up the unpleasantness with the knife, or mentioned Oswald, or the chloroform. He hadn't shouted, and he wasn't even struggling against the handcuffs. For someone as prone to panic and irrational reactions as Edward, he was doing so well. Pride swelled inside her. And then, as if to prove how well he was doing, he asked how long they were staying here, and she smiled excitedly. Oh, that was the perfect question! She loved explaining things to him.

"Why, forever, of course," she said brightly. Normally, that would have been accompanied by a soft tap on his nose, but she didn't allow herself. The fact that he'd used the plural pronoun again – the fact that he thought of them as we – was so wonderful she just kept smiling at him. She wasn't irked that he didn't want to be touched right now. He even specified right now, letting her know that he would want to be touched later. Patience. She just needed to wait. Once he'd acclimatised to the situation, she could be kinder, and let him out of the handcuffs, and this unpleasantness could be forgotten.

Edward: You just need time, she said and he frowned. Need time? He wasn't some store-bought pet, he was her ex-boyfriend. Her ex-boyfriend whom had been kidnapped by her. She broke into his new home and chased him down until she was close enough to drug him. At least she knew he didn't want to be there. She had some sort of sense to agree with him. As his body was beginning to wake back up, he noticed the odd feeling of the cuffs on his wrists more and more. A constant reminder that he was trapped where he was. He was wearing pyjamas so it wasn't as if he had a lock pick like usual up his sleeve. He glanced downwards at the top and confusion washed over it. This wasn't the one he was wearing when she came for him... was it? Did she change his clothes while he was out? Admittedly, he had done a similar thing to Oswald once before but it felt weird and uncomfortable that she did it to him. Especially with their history. He felt so violated by her. "You undressed me." He said out loud, sounding uneasy.

He nearly shuddered as he went through how she would have had to handle him. She probably slung him over her shoulder and carried him out like a dead animal. Placed him in the backseat or the trunk of her car and took his unconscious body to the farm house, where she removed his shirt and changed it for him... where she cuffed him to the bed. He remembered vividly the anxiety he had after he had been stabbed. That paralyzing fear he had of her. It was embarrassing to be afraid of someone who looked as innocent as Isabella but when she so easily could hold his life in her hands, it was hard not to be afraid.

Anxiety was beginning to wash over Edward more and more as he thought about it. She held him so close to herself and so tightly as she pulled the rag over his mouth and nose. She handled him as easily as one would handle a child. Like he was small and... fragile. He closed his eyes because he couldn't bear to look at her anymore. There was blood still on her. She may have tended to her wound but she didn't change her clothes. Like she was too busy thinking about him rather then the dark stain on her stomach.

She spoke up in a happy tone and he opened his eyes once again to look at her while she talked. "Forever..." He repeated. He didn't like the sound of that at all. Someone had to be looking for him, right? Oswald had to be looking for him. He must have had a search party out for him, like before... while Ed was ripping apart Oswald's empire. He cared so much about him that he had half the people working for him looking for him. Surely he had people looking for him now, right? He wouldn't be trapped here forever.

"Have you thought about how we'd manage that? What about the bills, Isabella? The electricity and the running water... I only have this safehouse pre-paid for so many months. Eventually we'll run out. Then what? You'll start going to work again and you'll cuff me until you return back home?" It was starting to sound a tad bit sassy, but he was trying to keep his voice more even.

Isabella: Edward was clearly waking up now, and Isabella almost wished he wasn't. He looked more alert, and less adorable and sleepy, and his tone was more pointed. It was difficult to tell if he was going to cause trouble. "Yes," she said, simply. "You couldn't exactly lie in a bloodstained shirt, could you?"

He sounded embarrassed, as if she'd never seen him without a shirt on, as if she'd never seen his body before. She knew that Edward was self-conscious, and rarely let anyone see him naked, but didn't he know she adored him? Besides, she'd been completely professional. She hadn't gawped, like some sort of pervert. She'd taken off his bloody shirt, found a clean one, and replaced it, hardly glancing at his skin. But, as she’d pulled the shirt down over his stomach, she had seen the lumpy, thick, scar from the stab wound she'd given him. It made her freeze for a moment, and just stare, before quickly pulling the shirt over it. There was nothing nasty about her changing his pyjamas. It was simply necessary.

He closed his eyes for a moment, clearly trying to gather his thoughts, and she let him, simply watching him think. Then he repeated what she'd said, and it sounded even better coming from his mouth. Forever. Just how it was supposed to be. For the rest of their lives. He'd wanted that once, hadn't he? He'd wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, until he'd taken the fall for her stupid mistake, and went to Arkham on her behalf. And he had forgotten that he loved her. It was her purpose to remind him of that. He would see it eventually. He would love her back, and things would be exactly as they were. No, in fact, they would be better. Because she wouldn't leave him, like she had left him in Arkham. Even the thought of abandoning him so carelessly, because she thought she would be better off, was sickening.

He spoke again, and it was clear that he was back to his full mental capacity. She frowned, and tilted her head to the side. What about bills? Oh. She hadn't thought. She hadn't considered that. In her imagination, those things were simply there. She hadn't thought about work, or paying bills, or potential visitors. All her focus had been on Edward, and getting him there, and making him happy. She blinked. The silence dragged, and she was painfully aware of it, but she didn't know what to say. If she admitted those things hadn't crossed her mind, he would think she was stupid. The irritation was obvious in his voice. She didn't want him to think that she was thoughtless.

She looked down at her hands. "I didn't think..." she began, and then trailed off. But that wasn't entirely true, was it? She had thought. She'd stocked up on food for them, and made sure he had his medication and clothes and books. She'd decorated the house, and made it liveable. Goodness, she'd done all these things, and he was being smart with her? "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," she said coldly. She looked back at him, trying to shake how uncertain he'd made her feel. He'd pre-paid for months, hadn't he? When the bills came due, they could work it out.

Edward: He inhaled sharply when she admitted to changing him. Sure there was clear evidence that she had done it but she still hated the idea of it with all of his being. He hated that she removed his clothing while he was unconscious knowing that he didn't really like showing skin around people – certainly not around her. He didn't like that she would have seen the pink, puffy scar on his stomach where he had been stabbed a few months before... that the person who did it may have touched or seen it without Ed being aware of it. He shuddered again and bit his lip. He would have preferred to lay in her blood for however long she held him for. It was disgusting and it would start to stink and dry to his body and to the bed but even that was better than the image of her undressing him like that.

The anger started to fume inside of him like a contained fire as he thought about why she was doing this. She claimed to still love him. She thought they could live together in some fantasy house away from society and worse she thought no one would bother to look for him and he would just go through with it? That he would be okay with this. Even though he had no say in anything and the woman was trapping him in one building for presumably the rest of his life? Like a prison. Like Arkham. Well, not like Arkham because at least in there he had people to talk to and guards to occasionally bribe. He had more than just this one, sick woman who thought if she could hold him long enough that he wouldn't think to let go.

She wanted him to develop Stockholm Syndrome, for this to play out like some twisted fairy tale. Like Beauty and the Beast. He glared towards Isabella as she was silent. She clearly hadn't thought about the reality of this situation. She didn't think past 'happily ever after' but what did he really expect from someone who lived her life through the pages of books? She wasn't considering him. She was thinking that since she loved him that magically he would get over everything they had done to one another and love her back. She assumed that once he agreed to staying that it would all be perfect again. Like it used to be in that honeymoon stage of their relationship. Well, she was beyond wrong.

"You didn't think." Edward muttered coldly to himself after she admitted it but as the silence dragged the sweet woman he saw before started to fade away right before his eyes. She was getting more angry with him. She spoke in this cold, certain voice that they would cross the bridge when they got there and Ed dropped his scowl. He could imagine this going poorly if he continued to show his internal rage about all this... he could see her pulling a fit and harming him or denying him food or water. God, water would be nice. His throat was still so sore. "Okay." He said simply, as though he was accepting his new fate. "... Isa." He said after a much longer pause. "I've been asleep for presumably hours and the drugs have affected me rather harshly. I think I need some water... If you don't mind..."

Isabella: Edward was quiet for a few seconds, and Isabella just watched him. He looked angry, and her heart sank. The last thing she wanted was for him to be angry at her, but he was glaring at her like he hated her, and she folded her arms tightly. The nagging urge to touch him gently was gone now. What right did he have to be angry at her? She had done all of this for him. Yes, she hadn't thought about bills and electricity and water, but they could deal with those things when they became a problem. And besides, they wouldn't become issues for months. He was just trying to pick holes in her plan because he was being a child. He was still tired from the drugs, no doubt, and he was kicking up a fuss. And he wondered why she'd restrained him, when he acted like this?

But then the anger faded from his expression, as quickly as it had come. Had he realised she was right? That there was no need to worry about ridiculous things like bills when they were together? He simply said Okay, but didn't elaborate. Before she could ask, he used her nickname, and it sent a chill through her. Her skin tingled, and any irritation she'd felt before faded. Oh, it wasn't fair, how he could make her forgive him with a single name. But it sounded so magical, so wonderful, so loving. How could she be angry at him? It made sense that he was annoyed. He was still confused. The coldness in her eyes melted away, and she smiled at him fondly.

"Of course I don't mind, my love," she said gently. She should have had water ready for him for when he'd woken up. She had meant to get some, but she'd forgotten. His throat probably ached, and he probably had a headache. With an apologetic smile, she stood up. "I'm sorry. I should have had some for you. I'll be back in a moment." Without waiting, she turned and headed for the door, and rushed downstairs to the kitchen. She poured him a glass, and then stopped for a moment, and thought to grab a straw. He didn't have hands to hold the glass with, so she had to make it easier for him, and be careful he didn't choke.

She carried it upstairs to his room, and smiled brightly at him. "Do you still have a headache, darling?" she asked as she walked over to the bed and sat beside him, peering at him. He didn't look sleepy or nauseated, but he was likely still feeling the effects of the Flunitrazepam. "There's aspirin in the bathroom, and sleeping pills, but you should wait a while before taking them. We don't want you getting hooked!" She said it lightly enough, but it was a legitimate concern. She would have to use pills sparingly. She held the glass towards him, steadying the straw with one hand.

Edward: Ed sighed softly after her expression turned sweet once again. The nickname had worked to get her back to that docile state she was when she fawned over him. Even if that fawning was a bit annoying, he preferred it to the real danger Ed was in when Isabella got angry. When she snapped and went cold. Turning into that Query persona he used to see from her when she was protecting him from security guards or stabbing him in the stomach. It was like all of her emotion would drain from her face and all that would be left was this horrifying robot ready to kill anything that got in its way.

He smiled the smallest bit when she said she didn't mind. At least he would be getting some water soon enough. He felt unwell. His head still aching and his body still. A slight disturbance in his stomach that he was sure would turn into more of a problem as time went on. He was still recovering from the drugs she used to knock him out, after all. Since she used two kinds, it really wasn't good for his body. "Thank you." He said stiffly as she exited the room in a hurry.

He could breathe a little better now that she was gone. He took a look around the room and noticed so many of his things. His clothing, his books... she really wanted him to feel like this was his home now. Like this was what the rest of his life would be. Stuck there with her. Unable to use his brilliant mind, unable to ever speak to Oswald again. Or Daisy... or anyone. He had to get out of there, but he couldn't attempt it until she was gone. How would he make her leave for longer?

She came back in the room and he glanced up from his spot on the bed. He could see the glass of water in her hands and his throat felt even scratchier from the desperation to have it. Ed nodded when she asked if he had a headache. He forced himself to sit up a little more. The action was a tad clumsy but he was sitting up enough that he could drink the water without choking on it. He took the straw before even answering her and began sucking up the water desperately. He should have made her try it to make sure it wasn't drugged but he was so thirsty, he couldn't help it. When he was finished the glass, he gasped a tiny bit for air dramatically and leaned up more against the head board. "I... I don't want medication."

Isabella: As Edward sat up with difficulty, Isabella almost reached out to help him, but she remembered that she promised not to touch him, and kept holding the glass instead. He struggled to a semi-sitting position, and immediately started drinking the water. He didn't even pause to ask if it was drugged, or make her prove it wasn't. Though she knew that was probably because he was thirsty, she preferred to think he trusted her enough to know she wouldn't drug him without telling him first. He kept sucking the water without taking a breath, until the glass was empty, and leaned back against the headboard. It was so good to see him looking more like himself, and she smiled fondly at his gasp.

"Okay Eddie," she said. Of course he didn't want medication yet. He was still recovering from his last dose. God, she hoped she didn't have to drug him again. She would, if she needed to – if he needed to be calmed, or to sleep – but she didn't want to. As he rested, she just watched him, more than content to look without touching. And, again, now that they had a moment of peace, she was hit with the unbelievable fact that he was here. She'd spent weeks fixing up their house, making it perfect, imagining this, and now he was right in front of her, in the bed she'd pictured him in. The urge to touch him rose up again, and her fingers twitched.

"What can I do for you, my love?" she asked softly. He looked exhausted and tired, and as beautiful as he was like this, it wasn't fair. He was clearly suffering. Did he need more water? Tea? He didn't want medication, but perhaps he could just have aspirin? She loved him so much that it was shocking. It was like a physical ache inside her. And seeing him look so weak and strung out was difficult when all she wanted was for him to be happy. "Do you need anything?" she asked, trying to focus on words to avoid the desire to just run her fingers through his hair playfully, to stroke his cheek softly.

"Can I get you tea? Or something to read? Or do you need more sleep, to recover? I can turn off the lights and get you a blanket if you'd like?" She knew she was rambling, but she wanted him to be comfortable. He was going to be in the handcuffs for a little while yet, and she knew how much he hated it. He had to be as content as he could be, in the circumstances. And he was doing so well, calling her Isa and being so good and calm. He deserved to be spoiled, and she loved taking care of him.

Edward: At least she agreed to not giving him any medication for now. The last thing Ed wanted was to be put to sleep again. He needed to stay alert and awake for as long as he could. He wanted to watch her, to make sure she didn't do anything horrible to him while he was asleep or looking away. Ed found it difficult to trust the woman. Why wouldn't he? He was kidnapped by her. He was held hostage in his own damn safe house. He continued to gasp for breath a bit until he got enough air and tiredly tugged at the cuffs for half a second to try and wake up his numb arms some more. He could feel the metal against his wrists, but his arms have been in the same position over his head for a while now and it was beginning to feel a bit sore and numb.

She asked what she could do for him and he perked up a little. He could ask for food, maybe she'd be away in the kitchen long enough that he could attempt a proper escape. But no... she probably had something pre-prepared for him or she'd go up and sit with him while she waited for the oven to preheat. Ed needed her out of the house. He glanced around. "I wouldn't be able to read unless you read to me, or turned the pages for me." He reminded her. "You have all of my things here?" He asked. Suddenly remembering the journal he kept tucked away under his pillow. There was no way that Isabella would have known it was there when she was collecting his things.

He turned and looked back at her, giving her the cutest, weakest smile Ed could muster up. "Do you have my journal here?" He asked her, "It's so important to me... you know. I used to write in it all of the time when we were together..." He reminded her before batting his eyelashes at her. "Please tell me you have it." If she didn't, and he could send her off for it, Ed could figure a way out of the cuffs and go down the hall to get his gun. He could wait for her to come back home and shoot to paralyze her while she's not expecting it. Then steal the car and leave her behind. He could go home to Oswald.

Isabella: When Edward struggled a little, Isabella sighed to herself. She had no comprehension of any physical pain he might have been in – that wasn't what was upsetting her – but she hated seeing him in discomfort. She watched the metal dig into the flesh of his wrists, and almost told him to lie still, but she knew enough from observing people that they often moved the way he was, after extended periods of stillness. And she remembered when she was Kristen, and her body felt numb and painful after being stuck in one position for a long time. Edward was clearly feeling that, but there was nothing she could do for him.

"Oh, of course!" she said, mentally chastising herself. Edward couldn't read without her assistance, and, though she loved the idea of reading to him, the way she used to when they were together, he didn't seem in the mood for it. "I'm sorry, darling. That didn't occur to me. And I bought all of your books here..." Her voice trailed off, and she turned to look at the currently empty bookshelf, disappointed. She was going to empty the boxes of books tomorrow, carefully sliding them onto the shelf.

She was jolted out of her thoughts when he asked her if she had everything, and she turned back to him and smiled proudly. "Yes, I have everything," she said. "Your medication, your clothes, your books, your bathroom supplies, your phone." But he was smiling in that endearing, knowing, way that made her heart flutter, and she realised she had forgotten something before he even mentioned his journal. How could she have forgotten? Of course she remembered his journal! He was always jotting down something in it – notes, ideas, creations, sketches. When she'd been in a playful mood, she'd liked to snatch it from him and make him kiss her to get it back. How could she have left his journal behind?

"I... I don't have it," she whispered, mortified. He looked so patient, as if he knew she'd forgotten. And she'd forgotten so much lately, hadn't she? Things were always slipping her mind – meetings with colleagues, conversations with friends, the fact that she'd hadn't washed her hair in a few days, where she left her glasses. She blinked at Edward. "I'm so sorry, my love," she said, as if any apology would do any good. He had been so wonderful and gracious with her since he'd awoken, and she'd left his journal behind. How could she? It was one thing to forget facts not related to him slip away – they weren't as important, and she could afford to forget them – but not thinking about his journal? It was a terrible oversight.

She stood up hurriedly, acting without even thinking, and looked down at him. "I can go back to Oswald's and get it for you? You won't be able to write in it yet, but I could write for you? Or hold it for you to read?" She felt flustered, hardly believing that she hadn't even considered looking for his journal when she'd gone to get him.

Edward: His heart fluttered as she started listing his things and he waited patiently, waiting for her to mention the journal or not. That she whispered that she didn't have it and he had to force himself not to breathe out a sigh of relief. She didn't have it... so this was his only chance. Ed tried to look as sad as he could that she had forgotten it, even though on the inside he was glad that she didn't think to look for it. She was treating it like it was a huge deal that she had somehow forgotten it and he had to wonder for a moment why she was freaking out the way she was. Even if it was good for him that she was.

She stood up quickly and the sudden movement made him flinch hard. Looking at her longingly when she said she could go back to Oswald's and grab it for him. "Yes–" He said a little too quickly. "Yes, please... you can take notes for me when you get it... I don't need to write in it myself, I'd just really want it around. There's a few new riddles in it that I want to try out on you. You know how Oswald doesn't really appreciate my riddles..."

His heart was beating so quickly in his chest that he was horrified he might mess this up and she wouldn't really leave. He needed her to go and get it for him. He needed for her not to think too much about leaving him here on his own and focus instead on the mission at hand. He swallowed. "It's under my pillow... Oswald's schedule is on my phone so you can look at that while you're heading out and make sure you won't run into him." He said, already feeling so sick from the nerves.

"Please, go get it for me?" He looked at her with wide eyes. Imploringly. Already thinking about how he was going to have to get out of the cuffs somehow. She'd be gone for long enough for him to escape and this was his only chance to try and get out. He doubted she'd go out on another run for him like this. This was the only item he had that was important enough to him that it was believable.

Isabella: Even as Edward spoke, asking her to get it, Isabella was reaching into her pocket to check she had her phone, car keys, house keys and the bedroom keys. She felt them all in her pockets, and then watched Edward, nodding as he spoke. She could take notes for him. If she wasn't so embarrassed about the fact she'd forgotten his journal, she would have been more excited by the prospect of writing in it. It was special and private, and he was allowing her to write in it? But she was so mortified that she'd left it behind, and not even thought to look for it, that she couldn't really revel in the privilege he was affording her.

She was broken out of her guilt when he insulted Oswald – he was showing his true thoughts already! – and she smiled brightly. "It would be an honour to write in it for you, my love," she said. "You and your riddles! I should have known you'd written countless new ones since I saw you." She was already picturing their morning. She could return from Oswald's, make Edward breakfast, sit on the bed with him while he tested her with his new riddles. It sounded like a wonderful first morning together, and the perfect way to show Edward that they could be happy.

He didn't seem upset that she hadn't brought it with them, but it was obvious he wanted it. Oh, and he was being so polite, practically begging her to get it for him. Of course she would. She wanted him to be happy here, and if getting him his old journal was what it took, then she would retrieve it for him. It was her fault he didn't have it already – she'd forgotten it, when she'd been so preoccupied with organising everything else – so she had to go and get it. She smiled warmly as he explained where it was, and told her about Oswald's schedule. "That's a good idea," she said. "You're so clever, darling." Obviously, Edward didn't want her to run into Oswald. There was no doubt that the Penguin was looking for them, and if she walked right into him when she was shopping, it would ruin everything.

Even though she had promised herself she wouldn't touch him, he was being so sweet and understanding, and looking at her with such an adorable expression, that she reached down and brushed his hair back from his forehead gently. "Of course I will," she said softly. "I'll return as quickly as I can." She had to prove to him that she could do this, that she was willing to return to Oswald's house, despite the fact she might get seen, to get something he wanted, simply because he'd asked. Edward had to understand the lengths she would go to make him happy here, with her.

So, with a last loving smile, she walked away from the bed and headed for the door. As she left the room, she reached into her pocket and pulled out the bedroom door key, silently locking it behind her. Though she hated not being able to leave his door unlocked, it was better to be safe than sorry. She doubted that he would try anything, and, in this instance, she wanted desperately to be proven wrong, but just in case, she had to take every precaution. She slipped the key back into her pocket, and walked downstairs, singing softly to herself as she went: "Moon river.... Wider than a mile... I'm crossing you in style... Someday..."