Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight, that's all Steph. But this particular twist in the Twilight Universe is all mine. I hope you enjoy.

The best thing about tonight's that we're not fighting. Could it be that we have been this way before?

Edward and Bella lay on her bed, her under a thin blanket, him on top. Her head lay on his chest, as though listening to a heartbeat that didn't exist. His hands were in her hair, weighing separate strands against his fingers, but mostly just reveling in the warmth of it. He watched this way it caught the moonlight and glinted grey/silver against his white palm. It was a perfect night for them. They'd talked about her dreams, about the future, about their love, about everything. It hadn't been awkward

or hard to bear at any time. They'd touched, but Bella never pressed him to go further, and he appreciated her for that. He appreciated everything about her.

Sighing, he lowered his hand, so that the strands of hair that he was holding fell back against the larger mass of hair upon his head. His fingers carressed her neck in passing, and she shuddered. He shifted away from her a bit, so she wouldn't be so close to his coldness, but she snuggled up against his again. "I'm not cold." She muttered sleepily against his chest. He chuckled, lifting his hand to his own hair, wrapping the other around Bella, even though it seemed to be against her better interests. "You were shivering just now, Bella." He pointed out, knowing surely this wouldn't seem a good enough reason for him to stop touching her. Not to her, anyway. "Not from the cold." She responded, snuggling deeper into his chest.

His brow furrowed. Not from the cold? Isn't that what made humans shiver, the cold? That made sense to him, perfectly. He was cold. He touched her. She shivered. Perfect sense. But what she was telling him now, well, that made less sense. Edward didn't like things that made less than perfect sense. He sat her up, and then he sat up as well. He looked at her, his Bella, eyes half lidded in sleep, mahogany curls framing her face past her shoulders, skin like cream, berries and cream when she blushed, and deep, milk chocolate brown eyes that couldn't keep secrets as well as her silent mind could. She was his.

"You say my touch isn't what made you shiver?" He asked her. She shook her head vigorously. "I said the cold isn't what made me shiver." She responded, as though it made all the sense in the world. His brow furrowed deeper. "Bella, love, my touch is cold." He reminded her. She bit her bottom lip, a signal that she was in deep thought. How to explain, she thought. What on earth explanation could there be, he wondered. She sighed. "Sometimes, you touch me, and I shiver. But it has nothing to do with the cold, and everything to do with you touching me." She said slowly, weighing her words as she went, as though, even as she was speaking them, she wasn't sure they were the right ones. They were. He understood. "Oh," was all he could say. "Yeah," was her mumbled response as she laid back down. But he wasn't done.

He looked down at her, her eyes were shut again, and he knew he should let her sleep, but his curiousity and confusion were tearing at him, and he found himself speaking again. "But earlier, when we were..-When I was touching you earlier, you didn't shiver then." She signed, and rolled from her side to her back. Eyes still closed, she replied simply, "that was different." He threw his hands up, exasperated. "Yes, that was different! Then, I meant to make you shiver, and you didn't. Now, I accidentally touch you and you shiver. That makes no sense, Bella." She threw a hand up over her eyes, but he knew she'd opened them. Her voice was steady when she spoke. "It was different because then you were doing it, not because you wanted to, but because you knew I wanted you to. Because you felt like it was what you were supposed to do. It was forced." She sat up quickly, resting a hand on his upper arm, "Not to say that it wasn't lovely," she qualified quickly, "but it was forced." She shrugged, hand falling into her lap.

He picked it up, turned it so that the palm was facing him, and began tracing the patterns of her palm slowly, his gaze alternating between her hand and her face. Milk chocolate eyes fluttered closed, and her head fell to the side, curls cascading over her shoulder. "And now?" He whispered. She was silent for a moment. "Now," she said breathlessly, than again, with more volume, "Now, its more natural. The way two people in love touch each other. Its not done with any ulterior motive, its just a touch, and whatever comes next on the path will happen naturally." She told him, matter-of-factly. He chuckled again, still tracing patterns on her palm. "And what happens next on this natural path, my love?" She appeared to be in deep thought for a moment, until a slight smile played about her lips. "Kissing, in general." She said plainly.

Ah, but he knew where she was going with this now, and his whole body tensed for it, his fingers slowing and stopping in her hand. She sighed inwardly and looked away. She was weary all the sudden at the sight of his battle stance, and weary even more at the battle all together. "And what's next on the natural path, if you wouldn't mind me asking," acid leaked into his voice at this. Her eyes flew open, narrowing. "I wouldn't know," she responded coldly, "Thats about as far as my love and I go on the natural path." He laughed, but it was humorless, and bordering on cruel. "Ah, so maybe that's where the lovers realize that there's nothing natural about their love at all, because one of them, the one with the touch like ice, finds he isn't very natural at all." He barked. Her eyes filled, and he found himself pulling at his hair, shaking his head. Here we go again.

I know you don't think that I am trying, I know you're wearing thin down to the core.

"Bella, love, its not that I don't want-" She stopped him with her glare. "No, Edward. It is that you don't want. No!" She whispered furiously when he tried to protest. "It is. It has to be, because I've never seen you want anything that you didn't get. And we haven't...we haven't..." she choked, then composed herself. "We haven't gone any further for that exact reason. Because you don't want. Because you don't want me." Tears were flowing freely now, down her face, into her hands that were twisting restlessly in her lap.

For a moment, he couldn't find words. It all just seemed so absurd to him. Not wanting her? Not wanting her? He didn't see how that was even possible. He'd been in a constant state of want for her - in one way or another - since the first time he'd laid eyes on her. And since the first time he'd touched her it had taken everything, every ounce of superhuman strength he possessed to keep him from touching her all the time. And she thought, she, love of his never ending life, thought that he didn't want her. He almost laughed.

But he didn't. Instead his raised his hand to her chin, tilting it up so that he could see her. He pleaded with his eyes, but with his mouth he only said, "I can't." Her head went down again, and a quiet sob went through her. He pulled his hand away, not knowing what to do, and she sobbed again. His arms went around her, pulling her to him, she came willingly, but couldn't bring herself to stop crying into his chest. He tried to calm her, whispering things into her ear, but he kept trying to explain to her, explain to her that he just couldn't.

Finally, she raised her eyes to his. Brown eyes, that were normally so warm and open were cool now, resigned. "Its no use, Edward." She told him, "Everyone knows you can do everything."