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It's not officially Hockey Night in Canada, that's Saturday, but it has defintely been hockey night for Meg. She's spent the last four hours at her boyfriend's brother's apartment watching -- and listening to -- Alain and Luc and their friends watching -- and commenting on -- the Montreal Canadiens beating the Quebec Nordiques, 8-0.

Luc's apartment is a tiny box of a place that looks like a twenty-three year old man lives in it; he has a giant television, a battered couch, and very little other furniture. Meg winds up spending half the evening in what is optimistically called the "kitchen," talking to Luc's girlfriend Nathalie about anything but hockey.

It's not a bad way to spend an evening, but she's kind of glad to return to her own quieter -- and furnished -- apartment when it's over.

So, naturally, she's just found the End of the Universe where her living room should be.

At least now she doesn't have to make her own tea.

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Meg's brain breaks into its internal playing of "The Hockey Theme" to say, Hello, Edward.

Meg's not at all sorry to either see Edward or to see the song stuck in her head yield the floor for a bit.

He doesn't stir, but there's a small shift to the hold of his jaw and his lips. Not a smile or a frown. For all anyone watching knows it could have been something he read.

Even though, a three seconds later, he looks up from the book. It half closed in folding fingers as he glanced with with such easy casualness toward the Door.

And the girl who'd been standing there.

"How are you?" she asks, when he's close enough that she'll be able hear the reply over the bar around them.

He considers fine and well, settles on, "Better. And you?"

"Good," she says.

Both in the sense that it's good that he's better and that she's good herself.

"How's Isabella doing?"

His whole countenances changes with his focus; softens. The planes of his face and the color of his eyes, and even the way his fingers turn around the book settling it on his thigh.

"She was released home two days ago."

"That's wonderful," she says.

"I'm glad she's better, too."

Call Meg crazy, but she suspect Edward's better and Isabella's better are related.

Edward will not call her crazy.
Or remark upon her assumption.

"There will still be many weeks before things return to normal," there's a pause, where he notes nothing ever can, in his head, but not aloud. But he finished his dangled statement with "-but I think Carlisle shall be glad not to have me underfoot daily."

"Probably," Meg agrees, with a smile.

"And I'm sure she's glad to be out of the hospital.

"Is the rest of your family well, aside from Dr. Cullen's relief at having you out of his hospital?"

"They are."

Alice recovered from most of her revelations for the most part, especially lately. Especially now that Bella was her doll for the foreseeable future of recovery.

Esme still making sure Rose and Emmett's return went smooth, that everyone's coming together wasn't as jagged as certain moments displayed.

"I'm glad."

She nods towards the book he's holding.

"Are you reading something new tonight?"

"The Divine Comedy," Edward said. "The Purgatorio to be specific."

"In the original Italian or translation?"

If they're being specific.

Edward raised his eyebrows, mockingly.

"There are translations?"

"Not all of us can read Italian," she says.

"And besides, sometimes translations are beautifully written in their own right."

So long as you remember you're reading one person's opinion of what someone else said in another language.

"Exactly." Edward said, in response to her thoughts rather than the other. "And if I wanted commentary, I would seek commentary out."

Beat. Perhaps just as teasing as recommending.

"You'd probably like the original cadences better. It has an order that's quite more succinct and to the point."

"I'll put it on the list of things to be read as soon as I learn the language in which they are written," she says.

But until then, as lovely as the cadences may be, they're still going to be fairly meaningless.

The smirk is faint but then.

"You do have a list, then. Good."

"After the horrified reaction I got from Alain when I admitted I had only seen Tartuffe in English translation, yes, I have a list."

That particular oversight has been remedied.

She's been working on the other French titles.

"I think I like him even more now," Edward said, calmly.

"Well, he's very likable," Meg says.

In her completely objective and unbiased opinion.

"Even when he's the reason I've spent an evening watching hockey."

And it wasn't even a good game.

"Hockey." Edward said the word like he was testing it. Like he's trying to place if he's ever heard it or knew what it was like. Golden eyes mischievous.

"Yes, hockey," Meg says.

"Of course, it's very important to watch it in the original Canadian.

"It loses something in tranlation to American."

"Ask Emmett. I believe you are currently speaking his language."

"I'll keep that in mind," she says.

"Speaking of keeping things in mind, I suspect I need to thank you for some Valentine flowers."