A/N: Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. I own this storyline, but nothing else.
Departure
"Okay, my turn." For a brief moment I stare intently out of the passenger side window, concentrating. "Senior year, Prom Night. I kissed Tyler Crowley behind his van."
Edward shoots me a disbelieving glance. "Are you kidding me? I tell you my most humiliating childhood experience of all time and you tell me that you kissed some guy you had a crush on at your prom?"
I shrug. "First of all, everybody wets their bed as a child-"
"Not at twelve. And not at their first-ever-girlfriend's parents' guestroom," he interrupts.
"Whatever. And kissing Tyler WAS extremely embarrassing, because I secretly despised him and his kiss made me puke. Right after that very kiss. On his shoes."
There was a stunned silence and then he was roaring with laughter. "You actually puked in front of him? Like there in your pretty green dress and high heels? You weren't even drunk, Bella."
"Har-har. Yes I did vomit, out of sheer disgustingness of the situation and Tyler's bad breath. I have a weak stomach, I'll have you know," I state indignantly. "And how do you know what colour my dress was?"
"I was there, it was my school too."
"You were with Tanya. You didn't even know me back then."
" However poor choices I might have made otherwise, even I did notice a pretty girl when I saw one." Edward flashes me one of his special smiles he saves only for me and his eyes meet mine. I momentarily get lost in their forest green, but return quickly back to present when he shifts his gaze to the road ahead of us. However, the familiar feeling of oneness and gut-wrenching love lingers, and somewhere deep down builds another, huge, passionate, frightful feeling, almost forgotten. I will not let it surface. I can't.
"You are supposed to say that, it's one of your husbandly duties." Somehow it doesn't sound as sarcastic and off-handed as I thought it would. I try, and fail, to return to that meaningless, joking atmosphere. But it's too late, I can tell. Tension is back in his posture, the sense of camaraderie gone and the air is heavy with the words left unspoken. He answers something to my previous comment and I can't...I can't...I do not want to hear his voice. These words may be the first of the last ones he says to me and I don't want to hear them. I don't want to go to our big bed alone tonight and think about his last words, that the words he is now saying are possibly...the last ones. Ever. I more feel than hear the acceleration of my breathing and the sobs that force their way up from my throat.
No crying. No. I will not ruin this. No.
I make myself raise my eyes from my lap where they have been staring unseeingly my trembling hands. I meet his eyes again and I know I haven't fooled him for a split second.
"Bella." The back of his hand brushes my cheek, his fingers lingering on my lips. His voice is soft and rough at the same time. He pulls up on to the parking lot of a gas station and then turns to me. I have yet to utter another word and I try desperately to control my breathing, to keep myself from hyperventilating. I feel Edwards worried eyes on me, waiting for me to look at him. But I can't. Oh, I want to – God, do I want to! – but I also know that the second my gaze meets his, I will lose it, and I can't let that happen. I am not even trying to play the all-supportive-soldier's-wife- role, no, I am acting solely out of selfishness. I am afraid that bursting in tears now will only make it harder to let him go – he would not be able to not comfort me, not kiss off my tears, not pulling me to him, saying he'll miss me...and that I would not be able to endure. He promised me happy goodbyes, no crying or big words – and I'll be damned if I let him go back to his words.
Finally I manage to gather the remains of my determination and calm down enough to look back at him. He is still not convinced, his brown in deep creases and his shoulders tense, but he knows better than say anything.
"I'm fine. Seriously. We should – we should continue. You don't want to miss your flight." Word by word my voice gets stronger and less shaky.
Edward starts the engine again and we make it back to speedway in silence. Earlier feeling of lightness and gentle bantering is gone, but it's not uncomfortable either.
"So...Tyler Crowley..." he says when we are twenty minutes from Sea-Tac. And just like that, the heaviness is gone and I have to laugh. Damn he is good.
"Yeah. He didn't return to my calls after that night and started to date Lauren the day after. He didn't seem too heart-broken."
"What about you? " Edward asked, small smile playing on his lips." Did you pour you bleeding heart on the pages of your journal?"
"No, but I gave that dress to Goodwill soon after the incident. And I believe it's your turn now, mister."
"What? To barf on to your shoes? Or to donate my prom dress to Goodwill?"
"No, you dofus. To share an embarrassing and/or humiliating memory."
"Dofus? Really? I thought those kind of words extinguished in 1997."
"Nope, it's still about the only word that perfectly describes you."
"What happened to a 'gorgeous sex-god', 'unbelievably good-looking' and 'a perfect husband'? Huh?" He tries to look offended, that sparkle in his eyes betraying him.
"I don't know, I haven't met any of those guys. Do you think I might have a chance?"
He attacks my left side with his right hand, tickling me until I nearly collapse to the floor from laughter.
"Stopstopstooop!" I wheeze, trying to escape his torture.
"Tell me I'm the best! Tell me you are one lucky, lucky girl to have such a sweet, good-looking, yet amazingly modest husband!" he demands, relentless.
"You're the b-best, most am-amazing—I can't remember, I forgot what it is you said – I-I-I" Edward moves his hand higher up on my side, under my armpit and I let out a shriek. "I love you, I love you, I love – " and then his fingers are gone and after my final chortles of laughter the silence is back and I don't quite understand what just happened.
"I love you, too, sweetheart", Edward says so quietly that I almost miss it. I throw a quick look at him and regret it immediately. His eyes are filled with anguish and I can't take it.
"No."I say in a low voice, which I don't recognise. "Don't you go there. You promised me."
"Bella--I can't—I have to—"his voice is low too and I have never heard it quite like this, and I pray to God that I never, ever will again. It's like all the life had left him and all there is is just blackness. I've always envied his ability to put all his thoughts and feelings into words, never afraid to tell me exactly how he feels – and now he seems to be at loss of words. At loss of spirit.
"You are not allowed to do that, remember?" I have steely edge in my voice. I swallow. "No big words. "
"You started it."
"You tickled me! And you wouldn't stop!" I shout and punch him lightly in his arm, and suddenly we both start to laugh at the absurdity of the moment.
"I just wanted to remind you about the hotness that is your husband," he says.
I laugh out loud. "You're just full of it, aren't you?"
"Don't you think I'm hot?" he mock-pouts, his lower lip jutting out adorably. "Because I happen to think that you are. Hot, I mean. You're my sex kitten. May I call you Pussy?"
I punch him again. "No, you may not. And yes, I think you are gorgeous, but also think you're cocky and don't need me to stroke your ego."
"But you don't think I'm hot?"
"Oh, give it a rest already!" I laugh.
"Stroking my ego – among other things – is one of you wifely duties, Mrs. Cullen. So suck it up." I swear, he never truly grew out of his teenage-boy mind. He usually just disguises it a little better. I tell him that.
"I'm going to have to survive without sex for the next six months. AND I have to mentally prepare myself for the overload of locker room talk that is going to ensue at the camp, so help me out here", he says lightly.
Surprisingly, I am able to answer with equal lightness: "I don't think I can help you with the locker room talk, since I've never been a horny teenage boy."
"But you are a horny, 26-years-old woman with a dirty little mind."
"I think you're doing just fine on your own, mister. "
Edwards carries on with his "preparations" for the rest of the journey and it suits me perfectly, as I spend the majority of it doubled over with laughter.
I warm my fingers against the side of the coffee mug, inhaling the steam that twists through the hole in the lid. Something's must be wrong with the air-conditioning of the Departure Hall. It's so chilly.
"Bella!" I turn towards the familiar voice and spot a handsome, blond man with a beautiful, small woman in their mid-forties approaching the coffee shop. I raise my hand and smile widely. Edward's parents wouldn't miss this for a world. Their son is going to put himself and his medical degree to an ultimate test and go to Iraq. No matter what their thoughts are about the war or the justifications of it, they couldn't be more proud. Esme is so happy that Edward has finally found a career he feels passionate about and Carlisle – well, he is not a military man, but as a doctor he knows that his son could have chosen much easier job, pursue a career in some big, well -equipped hospital with great opportunities for professional development and state-of-art research facilities – and instead he chose a military career just to see if he could make it.
Esme wraps her arms around me as soon as she is close enough and envelops me in her motherly warmth. I feel my throat tighten and extract myself gently after hugging her back briefly. Carlisle kisses my cheek and pats my shoulder. He knows that I'm not big in showing my emotions.
"Where is he?" Esme asks, glancing around the hall.
"He is checking his bags. He should be back any minute."
We sit back on my table and Carlisle goes to buy them coffee. Esme grabs my hand in hers and smiles at me. That expression is so familiar it hurts. Those green eyes and that small, one-sided smile – his son was wearing those when I fell in love with him in the summer before college. I smile back at her without meeting her eyes.
"How are you doing, sweetie?" she asks.
"Good. Good." I swallow unnecessarily, still smiling. "How are you guys?"
"Oh..."she seems a bit taken aback about my seemingly steady composure. I'm glad I can fool somebody. "You know. Work, choosing bathroom tiles and kitchen furniture for the lake house, trying to rein Alice and endure her fashion exploits – the usual." Esme lets out a short, sweet laugh. I join in with my own.
"Oh, you got to love that girl! She is a force of nature and annoys you to no end, yet you can't help but fall under her spell. What's up with her these days?" I ask.
"She's in love, that's what's up", Carlisle said from behind us, sitting down on his chair and with a paper cup in each hand.
"Seriously?"
"Yep", he answers, popping the "p" hilariously. With a mock sigh he continues, his eyes twinkling with humour: "She met this boy in her art class about a week ago and now she's all smitten. 'Jazz' she calls him."
We all laugh. That does sound like Alice.
"Well, how is he? Have you guys met him?"
They both shake their heads and Esme says: "But we are going to. Apparently, according to Alice, we are hosting a family dinner next Sunday, and 'Jazz' is obviously the guest of honour. "
"You are welcome, too, by the way", Carlisle adds. "We are going to need all the support we can get."
"What are you three planning?" Edward's voice comes from right by my right ear scaring the living hell out of me. I let out a loud shriek and then turn in my chair to smack him.
Edward just laughs at my face and bends down to kiss me. His lips are soft and a little cold against mine and his breath smells like mint and honey and sun. I cling to his forearms and effectively pull him down to my level, making him kneel behind my seat. My neck and upper back are twisted towards him, my lower body still facing the table. We get lost in the kiss for a minute, forgetting that we have company – his parents none the less – and finally I hear Carlisle clear his throat loudly.
Edwards ignores him for a second, but then he pulls our lips apart and sits down on a chair next mine, taking my hand in his. He rests our entwined hands on his thigh, rubbing soothing circles to my palm with his thumb. My heart is still racing from our kiss – some things have not changed since our firsts – and I'm wearing involuntary, goofy grin in my flushed face. I must look every bit like my college degree right now, I just bet.
"All checked?" Carlisle asks from his son, who nods back. Esme reaches her arm over the table and Edward takes her hand in his free one, squeezing it gently. Her eyes are teary, just about to spill over.
"Oh Edward!" she wails suddenly, tears now flowing freely. Unlike my in childhood home, showing emotions has never been anything unusual between the Cullens. Laughter and crying are equally present in every day, every situation. Carlisle takes weeping Esme in his arms, rocking her gently. My eyes are glued to my lap, unwilling to look up. I know that Edward doesn't want to make a scene and I also know that my composure isn't much stronger than Esme's. I feel Edward's arm snake around my waist, his hand resting lightly on my stomach. And suddenly I need to get away, to be alone with him, and not to say anything. Nearly everything that needs to be said is already said and we have only so much time to just be. I raise my eyes to the info screen, searching frantically his flight.
"Twenty minutes", he says quietly to my ear, lips pressed against it. Our gazes lock to each other and wordlessly we stand up. Carlisle and Esme come from around the table to say their goodbyes. I step back slightly and let them have their moment. Carlisle says something quietly to his son, gripping his arm tightly. Edward nods gravely and hugs him. Then Esme lets out a shaking sob and her slender form is suddenly enveloped in Edward's strong arms. This time I have no difficulties to hear her words. They are said with fierce tenderness. "You come home."
"Of course, mum. I'll call you when I get there."
Some other words are exchanged; final, brief hugs, and then his parents take their leave. They know that we need these last few moments to ourselves. We wave to them when they step outside the doors, Edward's arm still around me. Slowly we turn and start to walk towards the security check. Fifteen minutes.
And then I am pressed to his chest, his arms holding me too tightly, yet not tightly enough. His lips are pressed on to my hair and his breath is coming rapidly, irregularly. I feel something wet dropping on the top of my head. And we stand like that, holding each other and not saying anything for a long, long time.
"I'm sorry I have to leave so soon after Christmas," he finally says, his words slightly muffled by my hair. "But I swear, next Christmas is going to be just about us. Us two."
"Us three", I amend quietly, not thinking.
"Pardon?" He raises his face and pulls back slightly so he can see mine.
I meet his eyes this time and let myself sink into them. So green. So dark.
"Us three. Not us two. Us three." My words come with a small smile and I let my right hand drop on to my tummy, still flat, but not for long. Edwards hands grip my upper arms tighter and his eyes are like saucers - big, forest green saucers.
"What. What. What are you telling me?" his voice is strained with all kinds of emotions, incredulity on top of them all.
"I'm telling you that next Christmas there is going to be one more member in the Cullen family. I found out this morning." My smile stays on, getting bigger, and all of a sudden my feet aren't touching the ground anymore and I'm spinning around in his arms. He lowers me back to ground, still laughing breathlessly.
"Bella, Bella, Bella..." He lowers on to his knees and presses his cheek against my belly, his hands stroking my sides. He looks up to my eyes and I see so much love and devotion and adoration there, that my heart soars. And there is this amazing look of wonder there, and when I see it I very nearly start to sob. I know that I am going against my own rules – no tears, no big words – but it all happens so fast. I'd meant to keep this from him just a little while longer, until his preparation camp is over and I've seen my OB/GYN, but it just slipped out on its own. Now he is so happy that I can't help being as overly exultant as he is – and it breaks my heart that he won't be there for my first scan and for the first waves of nausea and the first kicks. I can tell when this fact starts to dawn to him by the furrowing of his brow and the longing in his eyes.
"Don't. Go. There." I whisper to him as he stands up. But I can already see the early traces of building guilt in his eyes. Edward has the uncanny ability to feel responsible of every bad thing that happens, has happened in the past or has the potential of happen, especially when his loved ones are concerned. I want to stop that train from leaving the station. "Hey." My voice is firm but gentle. "You didn't know – hell, I didn't know. I've been on the pill and neither one of us could have predicted this. We didn't plan this. This. Is. Not. Your. Fault. " Then I add as an afterthought: "Well, it is a little. I mean, you are hot as hell." My joke doesn't amuse him.
"I can't go."
"I said not to go there. I mean - not to start feeling all miserable. You are going to come back. Right? You will serve you time and then you'll come back to us and you will be there for the last trimester. You will see me become all fat and clumsy – well, clumsier – and hormonal."
"But I can't leave you now. I can't." His eyes are anguished and we don't have time for that. I glance the info board. Boarding to his flight is going to start in three minutes and he still has the security check to go through. This needs to be dealt with right now.
I take his face between my hands and drill my gaze to his eyes. I gather all my feminine authority and conviction and speak with surprisingly unwavering voice. "Edward Cullen. You are the love of my life and I would love nothing more than to have you with me every second of this pregnancy and not to be afraid for you. But you have wanted to do this for a longer time than we've been together and I love you too much to allow you to let go of this opportunity right now, when you finally have it. You will come back. Now you just have one more reason to do that. And I will keep you posted about every single, tiny detail and be bitchy and hormonal over the phone so you won't miss that part either. I will email you all the scans and record the heart beat to my iPod for you to listen. And you can brag about your son to your mates even though we both know it's going to be a girl and I will—" my rambling is interrupted by a hard set of lips and I give myself to his desperate kiss , because that's how I feel: desperate, in spite of everything I said, however true the words were. We kiss and kiss and hold each other until I have to unwrap his arms and push him towards the gate. "Go."
"I love you", he says backing from me, refusing to let me from his eyes. "Both. I love you both."
"GO!" I say laughing but it sounds more like a strangled sob that it is. My "I love you" is just a whisper, but he hears it and winks.
And then he is gone.