Chapter Text
You thought Forks would be the perfect place to re-imagine yourself. There were just enough ties to your family that you weren’t a complete nobody, but it was new enough, far enough away, that you thought it would be the perfect fit.
So far, you’d been in a raincoat more than you’d been at work. Your shifts kept getting called off, and at this rate, you’d never make rent.
Your old car sputters to a stop at a red light. It’s twilight; there’s few other cars on the street. You make sure to stay a good distance away from the police car in front, trying to remind yourself that you’re not about to get pulled over.
Another car approaches from behind. You watch it get closer and closer in the rear view mirror, until it brakes suddenly. It’s not soon enough. It careens into your car, pushing you forward into the police car in front.
You rock with the motion. The sound of metal grinding hangs in the air, glass cracking in perfect fractals.
You can’t breathe. You stare at yourself in the rear view mirror. Shocked, and pale. But fine.
The car that just rammed into you pulls away quickly, mounting the sidewalk in an attempt to get away, and runs the red light completely. You just watch in shock.
The policeman in the car in front gets out, and stares at the car for a few moments before turning to you.
“Are you all right, Miss?”
If you were any more shaken up you’d think he was an angel. His hair is dark, eyes filled with genuine worry. He opens your door and crouches a little to see you better- he has to- he must be 6ft.
“Miss?”
“Just shocked, officer. I- I didn’t mean to hit your car.”
“I know. Are you hurt?”
You shake your head, and try to get out of the car. He offers out a hand to help you out- a hand you have to take. Your legs are Jelly.
He runs his eyes over you, searching for cuts or bruises.
“Do you need me to take you to the hospital?” he asks.
“No, Officer. Really. Are-are you alright?”
He just nods, brows fixed in a serious position.
You let out a big sigh, and run your hands through your hair. You can barely look at your car.
“Look, I’m going to have to write this up. I’ll need your details for your insurance.”
His dark eyes lock with yours. You nod pathetically. God. You really don’t have the money for this.
He scribbles something in his notebook, and tears the page out for you. Then he hands you the book, and you write your own details down.
“Is that everything, Sir?”
“You’re not in trouble,” he says assuredly.
You nod, but don’t agree. His serious eyes, the way he stands, all make you feel like you’re miles beneath him.
He gets in your car, and rolls it to the side of the road so it’s not so much in the way. The trunk is crumpled like paper; the headlights both smashed.
“Do you need a ride?” He asks.
“No, Officer. That’s fine. Thank you.”
He nods a little, and takes an extra moment staring into your eyes before he drives away.
Your home isn’t far. You manage to walk it, head reeling from the accident. Of course you had to hit a police car. Of course the officer in question was so dauntingly attractive that you could barely get a word out.
You don’t think your week can get any worse- until your purse is stolen. You only got up for a second in that cafe for an extra hot chocolate, and it was lifted right out of your eyeline.
The Police Station is relatively small. On one of the only days it doesn’t rain, you walk over there, trekking through the yellowed leaves until you find it. At least it’s warm inside.
“I- I phoned earlier. I need to file a robbery,” you say to the receptionist. She gives you a sympathetic smile, and reaches for some forms.
“Robbery? You’ve had a tough week.”
You spin on your heels, and see the same Officer there. He doesn’t quite smile at you, but his eyes are still friendly, hands in pockets.
You let out a small laugh.
“I’ve had better,” you admit. “It was just my purse, though. Luckily.”
He gives a knowing nod, and walks behind the counter for something.
“Oh, Officer…”
“Swan.”
“I’ll need your details again. They were in my purse. Sorry.”
He shakes his head dismissively, and re-writes his details on the notebook from his pocket, handing the paper to you again.
“Swan… Are you Bella’s Dad?”
He looks at you contemplatively, studying your face. Probably trying to work out your age, and how you know Bella.
“My Mom used to babysit for Renee. I’ve heard bits and pieces about her,” you clarify. He nods silently, and you think that’ll be the end of it. But he stays watching you by the counter.
When you finish the forms, he holds out a hand, and you give them to him. He flicks through carefully.
“I hope you haven’t heard anything bad about me,” he says.
“I know much less than people expect me to. I’ve just moved here a fortnight ago. Have you got recommendations for places to go? Preferably ones I don’t have to drive to.”
You joke a little, and his face breaks into a small smile. It makes your heart flutter.
“I’m afraid I don’t get out much.”
He continues looking at the sheets. You’ve got awfully little information on there, from you never having even seen who took it. But he holds up the file, and tells you he’ll look into it personally.
“Seems like you need someone looking out for you,” he says, not quite gently, not quite firmly.
“I really appreciate that, Chief Swan. I know it’s not a lot to go off of.”
“We’ve had a few similar to this. Thanks for reporting it.”
You smile at him, and he opens the door for you to leave.
You can’t stop thinking about him. You know he’s a police officer- it’s his job to be polite, to be cordial. But he doesn't have to be so chivalrous. You wonder if he’s just as nice without the uniform; a man you’re too familiar with. Nice in the public eye and disinterested at home.
The colder weathers make way for more rain. You can’t afford a car at the moment, so you get caught out in it a lot; you decide to invest in a nice coat and better shoes instead. A coworker keeps taking shifts off you, and by the time you get to the end of the month it’s a pitiful amount. You try to find out if there’s any other library jobs available, but there’s only so many libraries in Forks.
One of the few times you’re at work the phone rings. The phone never rings. You pick up, hoping it’s quick so you can close, and the gravelly tone surprises you.
“Chief Swan! Yes, I’m here.”
“I wanted to let you know that we’ve tracked down your purse and it’s in the Station right now. It doesn’t look like anything was taken.”
“That’s a relief.”
“Well I wouldn't call it that. It looks to have been dumped on the side of the road when they realised you had no cash or valuables.”
“Oh.” You say. That’s almost rude- whoever it was didn’t even try to sell it.
“The station is open every day; drop by whenever.”
He hangs up, and something settles in your chest. They found your purse. But that’s not it, though, is it? That’s not the only relief you get.
You close up the library and make your way over to the station. It’s a long walk from where you are, but if you went home first, you’d never go back out.
You manage to duck inside the station just before the first raindrops start to fall.
The receptionist recognises you, and grabs your bag from under the desk. It’s wrapped in plastic and labelled ‘evidence’, and you have to sign it out. Swan was right about it being left at the side of the road. It’s dirty and some things inside are broken. You’ll probably throw it away.
The Chief emerges from somewhere, in a sweatshirt and jogging bottoms. They must have a gym there that the police can train at- he’s slightly flushed.
“You came quickly,” he says, looking down at the bag in your hands. “I’m sorry about the state it’s in.”
“I appreciate the trouble you went to getting it back to me. A lot of people wouldn’t have bothered.”
He licks his bottom lip and nods slightly, as if in parting.
“Thank you, Chief. It’s nice to have someone looking out for me.”
He rubs his chin, the stubble a few days old, and looks past you at the doors before meeting your eyes again.
“You need a ride home?”
You didn’t plan on accepting, but the rain is much harder than you anticipated. It hammers on the windows, and the sun may well have set already for how dark the rain clouds make it. He shows you to his patrol car, telling you he was about to make his way home anyway, and asks which way you’re used to taking. Not just the address- he asks which way you’re most comfortable with.
“I take it you didn’t get your car fixed.”
“It was too expensive. My insurance said they’d cover the damage at the back, but not at the front, because it’s technically my fault I was so close to you.”
“You were the right distance,” he affirms. You feel your heart flutter as he makes eye contact with you in the rear view mirror.
“Well they don’t seem to think so. The repairs would have cost more than a new car. It didn’t seem worth it.”
“Our insurance tried to blame you as well. I was on the phone for a while having to explain.”
You blink a few times in shock. The lengths he goes to to protect you seem to outrank all he needs to do as an officer. You tell yourself it’s just the job. The butterflies in your stomach do not quiet.
“Anyway… have you had a good day, Officer?”
“Tiring,” he says. “It’s all the same.”
“But it’s good, isn’t it? You must have wanted to be an officer since you were a kid. Do you ever think that the young you would be really happy with how you’ve ended up?”
He doesn’t take his eyes off the road, but a smile cracks through on his face, tugging at the corners of his mouth incredulously.
“Sure,” he says, eyebrows raised. “I suppose it could be worse.”
You relax into your seat, glad to have made him smile.
“What about you? Was Librarian always on the cards?”
“Just about,” you shrug. His car pulls up to your house, almost too soon. You would invite him in if you knew him a little better- or were a little drunk.
He looks at you with a familiarity you didn’t think you’d ever see on him.
“It was nice talking to you. For your sake, I hope we don’t see each other anytime soon.”
“Me too,” you joke. “Get home safe, Officer.”
You rush to your door as the rain hammers downwards, but when you turn back, you could swear you could see him chuckling to himself as he drives away.
It turns out that you don’t see him anytime soon. It’s probably for the best. The only way to bump into him is to commit or be a victim in a crime, it seems; the man doesn’t spend a lot of time out on the town.
Things start to look better. In some respects they look worse. You manage to buy a car, and in some ways it’s worse than your old one. Your coworker stops stealing all your shifts and lets you breathe new life into the building, putting up revolving displays and organising more events. Now she trusts you, she puts almost all of her work onto you. There’s not a day you don’t finish late trying to complete all the tasks she hasn’t- or won’t do.
And you haven’t really met anyone else.
No friends, no lovers.
Your contact list starts and ends with 911.
You organise a bake sale to try and raise funds for a new audiobook area for the children. It took a while to get clearance, and you were up until midnight baking an array of treats. Your coworker bought one tray of food from the store.
A few patrons come and go; mostly regulars you normally see, plus a little bit of foot traffic. You barely make more than the amount you had to spend on ingredients. Half of it lies untouched.
You try not to lose hope as you stare at the table. What a fitting analogy for all your failed dreams. As you close the doors against the coming rain- because of course it’s raining- a familiar face walks through the doors.
“Hello, Officer.” You know your voice is flat, but you can’t bring yourself to care that much.
“I heard there was a bake sale,” he says. You nod towards the table.
“Did you make all this?” He asks, carefully surveying the array. There’s tarts, cakes, cookies and even small chocolates. All tried and tested recipes. Everyone who took one left with wide eyes and bought more. There were only a few willing to even try.
You can only nod in response to him. His calming nature sends ripples of shock through you- you feel as though you might cry.
“How long did it take?”
“A while,” you admit.
“Did you reach your goal?”
You can’t even shake your head. A lip bite, a small arm scratch. It’s all you can manage. The bad weather doesn’t call for a lot of foot traffic.
He walks over to the counter, and reaches into his back pocket.
“How much do you need?”
“Officer-“
“How much?”
You exhale deeply. It’s more to keep your voice steady.
“We made thirty dollars. I was aiming for a hundred.”
“Let me double that.”
He goes over to the little tip jar, and puts a few notes in. Your heart breaks with kindness, with generosity, with desperation. You walk behind the table and get ready to serve him.
“What’s your poison?”
“Anything with blueberries?”
“No… but I’ve got chocolate and raspberry cupcakes. Or a nice lemon drizzle sat here going to waste.”
“I’ll have a slice of that.”
“A slice? Sir, with thirty dollars you can have the whole table.”
You put the whole thing in the tub, despite his protests, and when he finally takes the box you ask him what else he wants.
You manage to convince him to take some ginger biscuits home. But he draws the line there.
“What are you going to do with the rest?” he asks, eyeing up the sad little table.
“I’ll probably ride into town and ask the homeless people if they want them. I don’t know. It’s better than the trash I guess.”
He eyes you with a look you do not recognise, for longer than you notice.
“Does it get easier?” You ask, trying to subdue a stutter. “Being new in town. When do you settle?”
“I’ve lived here my whole life. And I’ve never known a kinder librarian.”
You bite your lip desperately. He’s kind, and handsome, and you’d probably do anything for him to call you kind again.
“Thank you…” you trail off, realising you don’t know his name. It seems a little awkward to ask now. You rack your brains, trying to remember the old gossip about Renee.
“It’s Charlie.”
“I knew that.”
“Well, I’ll let you close up now. Good job on the bake sale.”
You frown- clearly you’ve done quite an awful job- but he smiles kindly back at you. It takes you twice as long to clear up as it normally does. And for the first time you don’t care. You’ve done net good, you decide. It’s not all or nothing, and you’ll make do with what you have, what Charlie gave.
You spend the next few weeks ordering in as many materials as you can, and stay late organising the display. There’s a ‘grand opening’ of sorts- a couple parents come with their children. You try to focus on the happiness you’ve made for them and not the lack of interest from the rest of the public.
You get into the swing of doing things for yourself, and aim to work out at least once a week. It’s bitterly cold, but as long as you’re running it’s not so bad, and it’s nice to be in touch with the elements while you’re out.
On one jog you stop to catch a breath. You don’t realise who’s house you’re in front of until he walks in front of you.
“Morning,” Charlie says casually.
“Oh- hello.” You watch him walk to his car, hoping that you don’t look horrendously flushed and sweaty.
“I didn’t think you were the active type.”
“I’m not. I just try to get out once a week.”
He raises his eyebrows, staring down at you.
“I liked that lemon cake.” It seems difficult for him to say, his eyes still fixed on your body. You’re only in an old sweatshirt and cycle shorts, and his gaze makes you self-conscious.
“I’m glad someone did.”
“Really. It was very nice. Is that your own recipe?”
“My Mom found it in some book somewhere; I just tweaked it. I’ll make you another one sometime. When’s your birthday?”
He finally comes up to meet your eyes. It’s harder like this, under his gaze, to stay upright.
“In the summer.”
“That’s ages away. Next time I make one I’ll drop a slice into the station.”
He smiles a little under his moustache.
You assume he has to go to work- but he keeps inciting conversation, asking you how the library is, how the children are liking the new area. And you- are you settled yet? Each question is quite short, almost brisk, but he keeps getting you to talk about yourself.
You stretch a little, arms above your head, and he offers to take you running sometime- in exchange for a lemon cake.
The smile finds your lips easily. You try not to look too excited as he ducks into his car, and turn away to start running before you have to watch him drive off.
Your coworker has invited you out for drinks one day. You’re not quite keen- but before your shift ends, you change into something a little less librarian-y.
But there’s an old woman outside. You lock up and go over to her; see how she’s confused and panicking about a lost purse. You offer to drive her to the station.
You sit at reception, shivering slightly in your small dress, only a thin jacket draped over your shoulders, helping her with the forms. You read them out to her and write in the information as she tells it to you.
A door opens down some corridor. You can hear the sounds of some disgruntled officers, and soon enough they walk into sight. The chief is there. Obviously. He takes the sight of you and this elderly woman in, and seems to understand it immediately.
He greets her kindly- she seems to be ‘losing’ her purse more and more often, and makes a phone call at reception for a relative to pick her up. He keeps glancing back over at her with worry. After a while you realise it’s not her that he’s looking at.
A relative comes to pick her up, and you start to follow them out the door.
“I went to the wrong bake sale,” he says quickly, catching your attention. “You going out anywhere?”
You sigh, noting how his gaze stays almost mechanically on your eyes, not daring to venture to your chest.
“Not anymore, I don’t think. I'm already- damn, an hour late?”
“Listen, I wouldn’t normally ask this...” his voice trails off. You stare into his dark eyes.
“What?”
“Can I use you for something?”
His eyes are intense, and you find yourself nodding slowly before you even say sure. It turns out it’s not what you were expecting- well, you hadn’t expected him to ask for anything explicit, more hoping- but instead he just wants to break someone they brought in for questioning.
“I’d hate to ask this of you, but, seeing as you’re not going anywhere, and you’re already here-”
“It’s fine, chief,” you say. It truly is. You’re always glad to be of help- happier still to be useful and used.
“Just open that door and say you’re the receptionist and you need his name on these forms. To spell it correctly.”
“Do you want me to cover up, or-”
“No,” he says awkwardly. “It’s kind of- the point.”
You nod knowingly, and smile a little. He’s so awkward asking you, as if it’s bad to say, or inappropriate, that you’re dressed up in something tight. Of course you are. It was an active choice.
He hands you the papers and you walk into the interrogation room. The reaction you get from him is exactly what you expect. The guy- who apparently had been ignoring all the officers- writes his own name at the top of the papers. You coo a thank you, and push your luck. Eventually you manage to get him to write his own statement down.
You smile at him, and walk out with your hands folded over your chest.
“Did you get a whole confession out of him?” he asks, staring at the papers.
“No. I can get one if you want.”
He touches your arm gently to deter you as you swing the door open.
“What are you in for again?” You tilt your head, eyes wide at the guy sat in interrogation.
“Because I vandalised the wall on Myer Street. I mean- they think I did. They can’t prove it.”
You roll your eyes as you pull the door closed again.
“Jesus Christ,” Charlie breathes.
“Is that enough?” You ask, staring at him with wide eyes. Once you turn on the doe eyed look, it’s difficult to stop. Especially when the man you’re looking at- well. It’s less of an act.
“Uh, yes. Yes. Thank you. And thank you for bringing that woman in. I’m glad she ended up safe.”
His eyes wander. He can’t bring them back up, surveying your whole body. You watch his chest rise slowly.
“Charlie?”
“Uh-huh,”
“Can I go?”
“What? Oh, yes. Yes. I’ll find a way to thank you properly,” he says. Now he’s conscious again, his eyes are serious as they meet yours.
“It’s fine,” you breathe lightly.