Chapter Text
“You’re going to blow yourself straight into next week if you hold it like that.”
Bella huffs, attempts to readjust her grip, and promptly yelps when the butt of the rifle slams against her foot.
“Dad, you do realize this is completely hopeless, right?” Bella asks, wincing as she removes the rifle off her foot and onto the forest floor beside it, packed densely with pinecones and thick patches of grass, so tall they nearly reach Bella’s shoulder. Her hand is so slick with sweat that the rifle almost slips, and she has to readjust her grip to make sure it doesn’t fall to the ground. Though, if she’s being honest, the temptation to toss it as far into the woods as she possibly can beckons to her as it has been for the past forty-five minutes.
Charlie sighs and runs a hand through his thinning hair, and, for a moment, Bella feels a twinge of guilt. They’ve been out here for hours, Bella scaring off every living thing in a thirty-mile radius, and Charlie slowly losing patience, but the intense longing to go back to Charlie’s house- uncomfortable reminders of Charlie’s failed marriage to Renee and all evident in the pictures still hung up on his peeling wallpaper and all-, hasn’t been this strong until now. The sky is lifeless and gray from what little glimpses of it Bella can see above the canopy of trees, and there’s a harsh bite in the air, wind nipping at her skin through her new winter coat that Charlie bought especially for this visit.
He's trying, she knows he is, and she can’t tell if she craves it or is discomfited by it. Both, probably, but Phil is eons away from Charlie (both physically and metaphorically), and the latter’s desire to win Bella’s approval is both endearing and slightly repellant, like a slobbery Saint Bernard begging for attention from its owner. Phil’s always been affable but slightly distant with Bella, more like a temporary roommate than a stepfather of eight years, and she’s grown too accustomed to his impersonal friendliness to really appreciate Charlie constantly knocking on her door, asking if she wants to join him and Billy Black in their fishing expeditions, or watch the football game on Charlie’s outdated television set.
It would’ve been one thing if it was just the fact that Bella didn’t know how to interact with Charlie and vice versa, but being in Forks is a far sharper thorn in her side than awkward, fumbling attempts at conversation with her dad. Since she can remember, Renee’s been carting her off to Forks during winter break while she and Phil go gallivanting about the country’s many baseball fields, but it doesn’t mean that the biting cold of Washington has grown any more bearable in the handful of months she’s spent altogether in Forks since she was four years old. Besides that, being in Forks for longer than half a week is as fun as watching paint dry, and Charlie knows this perfectly well- it’s why he’s so eager to get her out of the house, try to distract her from the fact that there are justifications at every turn for why Renee traded in Forks for Phoenix, sunny and dry and resplendent with community pools that would’ve frozen in less than an hour in Forks.
“You’re the one that wanted to learn how to shoot a gun,” Charlie points out, and Bella rolls her eyes pointedly, even though she knows he can’t see her face. It’s the principle of the thing.
“I meant at a shooting range,” she says in thinly veiled frustration, struggling to wave her rifle around in the air, which she thinks pretty much proves her point. “Not murdering some poor wild turkey in cold blood!”
“Deer, Bella, not turkey,” Charlie chides gently. “And besides that, you should learn how to use a gun. It might help you one day.”
“You don’t even lock your back door, and you’re the chief of police,” Bella feels compelled to note. Charlie lets out another sigh, long and exaggerated so she’ll know he’s kidding, but she still feels her hackles raise in response. They’re not at that point in their relationship where they can rib each other, even casually, and Charlie’s attempts to indulge in the casual moments of fatherhood feel almost cheap to Bella, swooping in for a reward where no effort was made. On both sides, yes, but at least she doesn’t hold a pretense about where they stand on the dichotomy between awkward father-daughter relationships versus familiar father-daughter relationships.
“Okay. Here we go again,” Charlie says, and positions himself a few inches behind her, guiding her small hands with his own large, gun-calloused ones. They’re rough over her soft skin, and she frowns at the feeling- like sandpaper across your skin, although maybe that’s just her natural reaction to being touched by anybody-, but before she can say anything, he’s removing them and drawing her shoulders in close.
“What we’re working with here is a Winchester Model 70,” Charlie explains, and as much as Bella feels conflicted about her relationship with him, she likes the sound of his low baritone rumbling through his chest and against her back, warm and soothing as it was when she was a little kid and unable to grasp the fact that their relationship would inevitably turn awkward as soon as she hit grade school. “You’re standing in the bladed-off stance right now- your right shoulder’s facing the target, because you’re left-handed. The recoil’s a little much, but you’re probably not going to have to fire off more than a round, and your precision’s going to be better this way.”
“Whatever you say, Dad,” Bella says, feeling somewhat ashamed by her own internal monologue, even though Charlie obviously can’t overhear it. He’s trying so very, very hard, and they’ll never ease out of the uncomfortable state that they’re in until Bella stops making snarky asides in her own head about how crappy it is to be stuck in the ass-crack of Washington with a dad who’s comfortable only in the presence of his fishing pole or his rifle.
(Even if it is almost impossibly hard to resist when he drags her out into the forest to go on a hunting trip she never actually asked for, thank you very much).
“Now,” Charlie says, “you’re going to look through that open sight- that little notch at the front of the rifle-, and you’re going to squeeze the trigger as soon as you have the deer’s head in your line of sight. Squeeze it hard enough that you feel resistance, like this.”
He abruptly puts his hands at her sides and squeezes hard, and Bella squeals with surprised laughter, forgetting herself for a second until she feels the rifle wobbling in her unsteady hands. She tightens her grip and dutifully- if reluctantly- looks down the sight. There’s no deer, surprise surprise, but after a few minutes pass she sees something move in the shade of a redwood.
A baby cub comes into view, and Bella can’t help it- she coos. It’s adorable, all wide eyes and small paws, but she feels Charlie tense behind her.
“Dad? What is it?” She asks, craning her neck to look back at him. A lump of anxiety forms in her throat as she stares at his face; he’s never looked this high-strung before, the lines in his face more pronounced than ever, shoulders coming up to his ears as he scans the area over Bella’s head.
“When there’s a cub,” he murmurs, in a voice so quiet she can barely hear him, “there’s a mamma bear. Give me the rifle.”
“But-“
“Now, Bella,” Charlie says, voice steely and uncompromising. Bella reluctantly hands him the rifle, and he expertly lines the sight up with his eyes, turning around in a slow circle without moving his upper half.
“I don’t see her,” he says, and Bella releases a breath she wasn’t aware she’s been holding. “I think we’re goo-“
And then, as though brought forth from sheer dramatic irony, or just plain dumb luck, the mamma bear appears almost out of thin air. There’s saliva frothing in her mouth as she steps in front of her cub, her eyes fixing on Bella and Charlie’s figures in the distance, and, for a pregnant pause, nobody moves, sizing each other up.
Bella steps back instinctively, a twig snapping underneath her foot, and then the bear is running towards them, the dark fur on her body shining almost cinnamon in the sun, and Bella barely has time to scream before Charlie pushes her backwards with one hand and squeezes the trigger with the other, the shot ringing out in the relative quiet of the forest.
But the bear doesn’t topple over. Instead, it only seems to enrage her further, and Bella scrambles backwards as she swipes a raised paw at Charlie’s face. He cries in pain, letting go of the rifle, and it skids across the forest floor and a few feet away from where Bella is propping herself up with her forearms.
She lunges for the rifle, hands violently shaking, and draws her shoulders in before taking another shot at the bear’s back, all in one clumsy motion. The recoil makes her smack hard against the ground, the back of her head slapping against the pinecones scattered on the forest floor, and the last thing she sees before her vision gives out is the bear toppling over Charlie’s body.
She knew she was going to regret coming back home.
When she comes to, there’s a furious pounding in her skull, blinding fluorescent lights overhead, and a movie star leaning over her prone body.
Okay, so he’s probably not a movie star- the pristine white coat and stethoscope kind of give him away-, but he sure looks like one, all soft blonde hair and flawless skin and warm golden eyes, crinkling when he notices Bella’s awake.
Before he can speak, Bella asks, “Where’s my dad?”
“He’s in the ER,” The not-movie star explains in a soothing voice, and though she doesn’t particularly want to feel soothed just now, her heart slows its panicky pitter-patter at his smooth cadence, almost transatlantic in his clipped, even vowels. “Broke three ribs and bruised four others, but he’s in stable condition right now, though he did come close to puncturing his lungs. You were luckier than that, I’d say- just a mild concussion and a dislocated shoulder, most likely from the gun recoil. I gave you a mild analgesic- a little Tylenol, nothing more-, but I wouldn’t suggest anything stronger until the first few days have passed. How are you feeling?”
“Like I just watched my dad get mauled by a bear,” Bella says, deadpan, and the doctor’s lips quirk almost imperceptibly.
“I’m Doctor Cullen, by the way,” He tells her. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Isabella, though I do wish it was under better circumstances.”
“I mean, you’re a doctor,” Bella points out, groaning quietly as her head throbs in pain. “I’m pretty sure most of the people you meet are through unpleasant circumstances.”
“True,” Doctor Cullen agrees easily, “but I’d say, after experiencing it twice, that surviving a bear attack constitutes as a particularly unpleasant circumstance.”
“Twice?”
“My son, Emmett, was attacked by a bear a long time ago,” Doctor Cullen explains, leaning against the counter of the hospital room. “He survived, but it did leave some unfortunate side effects. Hopefully you won’t experience anything of the sort, though. A little head pain for the next few days, maybe, but nothing life-threatening.”
His pager suddenly beeps, punctuating the end of his sentence.
“That’ll be my cue,” he says, giving Bella a warm smile. “I’m going to check on your dad for a little bit. Sit tight, okay?”
“Okay.”
True to his word, Doctor Cullen comes back after only fifteen or twenty minutes has passed, though it’s enough time to lull Bella into a half-conscious doze. She jolts awake when the door opens, which in turn makes her headache worse, and she’s wincing in acute pain by the time Doctor Cullen closes the door behind him, looking troubled.
“What is it?” Bella immediately demands, dread seeping into the bottom of her stomach. “Is it Ch- Dad? Is he okay?”
“He’s fine, but-“ Doctor Cullen hesitates, before asking, “Bella, do you know Billy Black?”
Bella blinks, taken aback by this sudden line of questioning.
“Uh, yeah,” she says, propping herself up on her elbows. “He’s my dad’s friend. Why-“
“Your dad is going to be at the hospital for the next several weeks,” Carlisle says quietly, cutting her off. “He told me that he was going to ask Billy to watch over you in the meantime, but it turns out that Billy and his son are visiting some family in Jefferson County during the holidays.”
“Oh.”
“Do you have any other family friends that can take care of you while Charlie’s staying at the hospital?” Doctor Cullen asks, brows furrowed, and Bella fights the urge to press her thumb against the crease it makes right above his nose.
“They’re all Mom’s friends,” Bella says slowly, “and I haven’t seen most of them in ages. I don’t know if they’d take me in, anyway. They were kind of pissed off when Mom-“
She was going to say, when Mom left in the middle of the night and took me with her like we were Wild West vagabonds escaping the authorities, but figures that Charlie would be upset with her telling a respectable doctor about his messy divorce.
“-when Mom left,” she finishes instead.
“I see,” Doctor Cullen says in response, expression serious. “Charlie told me the same thing, but I’d hoped- well. I told him that you would be welcome in my home during his convalescence, if nobody else could take you in.”
Bella tries to struggle against the surprise and resentment that suddenly flares up inside. She doesn’t want to be a charity case, and more importantly, she hardly even knows Doctor Cullen aside from the fact that he’s the most handsome grown-up she’s ever seen-, but it must show on her face, because Doctor Cullen adds, “I have a wife and five children. You wouldn’t be alone in a lonely old house, I can promise you that much.”
“Five kids?” Bella blurts out before she can stop herself. “Are you guys Mormons or something?”
She winces, aware that was possibly the rudest thing she could’ve said to a guy that very generously offered her a place in his house for an indefinite amount of time, but Doctor Cullen just smiles, seemingly unoffended by her uncouthness.
“They’re all adopted,” he explains, voice amused. “Perhaps I should clarify- when I say kids, I mean teenagers. My eldest, Emmett-“
“The famous bear-wrangler,” Bella interjects without thinking, and Doctor Cullen’s smile becomes a full-fledged grin at that.
“-he’s eighteen, acts like he runs the world, though I suppose all eighteen-year-olds are similar in that regard. Rosalie and Jasper are a few months younger than him, and Edward and Alice are seventeen. I think you would like them. I’m sure they’d like you.”
“And your wife?”
There’s a twinkle in Doctor Cullen’s eyes when he says, “Why, Bella, are you asking me how old my wife is?”
“One hundred, right?” Bella asks, catching on.
Doctor Cullen’s smile is impish when he corrects her. “One hundred and four, actually. Soon to be one hundred and five this December.”
“Well, tell her I say happy birthday,” Bella says, still playing along, and Doctor Cullen’s smile softens.
“You can tell her yourself, if you’d like,” He offers. “I know, of course, that I must be putting you in an uncomfortable position, and I promise you I won’t be offended if you think of anybody else that can take you in, but-“
“I’d like to go with you,” Bella says decisively. She likes Doctor Cullen, she thinks, and his family seems interesting- certainly more interesting than staying in the hospital in a boring white room for the next three weeks until her dad gets better. “I mean, my dad said it was okay, right? But I do have one condition.”
“Yes?” Doctor Cullen asks patiently.
“I want my gun,” Bella tells him earnestly. “I mean, my dad’s gun. Rifle, technically, I guess. Point is, I want to continue my shooting lessons. Emmett knows how to shoot, doesn’t he? He didn’t just wrestle a bear with his bare hands, right?”
“Well-“ Doctor Cullen opens his mouth to speak, closes it, and then opens it again. “Yes, he knows how to shoot a gun. So does Jasper, come to think of it, though he hasn’t touched one in a long while. But as both your doctor and as a friend, I’m advising you not to use a weapon while your concussion is still so strong. Loud noises can agitate it further, and you need to focus on rest and relaxation this week.”
Bella thinks this over. Then: “Did I kill it?”
“Kill what?”
“The bear. The bear that gave me a bitch- I mean, bad headache, and broke my dad’s ribs. Did I kill it?”
Doctor Cullen’s eyes scan her from head to toe. She wonders what he sees when he finally meets her gaze, steady and tawny, almost yellow in the fluorescent lights.
“Yes,” he says finally. “We found its cub a few feet away from its body.”
The righteousness seems to leave Bella’s body immediately.
“That sucks,” she says uncomfortably, after the silence in the room becomes nearly unbearable. “What, um, what happens to cubs whose moms get shot?”
She can’t read Doctor Cullen’s expression when he responds.
“They don’t typically last the winter around Forks.”