Feeling empty and estranged from those around her after Edward leaves, Bella discovers that one Cullen has stayed behind. But are Carlisle's reasons for staying really as simple as he claims, or is there more to it?

I

The Swan household woke around four Saturday morning. Roused by screaming, Bella Swan spasmed violently beneath twisted, sweat-soaked sheets, before collapsing over the side of the bed in a tangle. It was only when her father came running into the room seconds later that she was able to fit the pieces together and realize that the screams had been her own. Charlie Swan knelt beside his bewildered daughter, reaching out a hand to shift the hair from her tear-streaked face; it was early, and they were both tired and disoriented, otherwise he would have likely mastered the inclination.

"Nightmare?" he croaked helplessly. She barely mustered the strength to nod. The very least she owed him was the truth.

She hadn't gone back to sleep after that. Embarrassed, she dressed quickly for another weekend spent at home and escaped downstairs to the kitchen. Charlie had resumed his snoring on the living room couch—it was where he slept most nights, curled up with the remote and ready to spring into action the moment he heard her yell—and she stooped down in front of him to mute the television.

He deserved better than her. Everyone did.

She stood in the kitchen now, stirring mechanically and gazing vacantly at the stove top. She had forgotten what she was making, but it didn't seem important, so long as she was doing something to make amends for another night of horrors—something useful that would make things easier for Charlie. When he next woke, it would be to something a little more pleasant than a screaming, wild-eyed daughter.

Some time later, breakfast had been finished; she stared at that, too, uncomprehending, and wondered crazily if some elf or fairy had snuck in and prepared it while her back was turned. She still hadn't heard any movement from the other room, so Bella sat down at the table exhaustedly and dropped her head into her arms. She rested there, drifting in and out of consciousness—never fully falling asleep, but existing in the same strange emotionless purgatory she had for months—when a hushed voice from down the hall drew her vague attention.

"It's every night now, Doc. I just don't know what to do about — no, I guess they don't seem to be getting any worse, but it's sure as hell not getting any better — no, she won't talk to me about it, she won't talk to anyone — well, he really did a number on her, didn't he? — no, I know, I'm sorry, too, I'm just spread kind of thin these days — what? No, I don't think it's a good idea for you to come and see her, just... thanks for being available. I'm a little out of my depth here. I just wish her mother would — "

"Everything all right in here, Bells?"

Bella blinked and flinched into an upright position; Charlie was standing in the doorway. Had she fallen asleep...? Maybe she had only imagined eavesdropping on the conversation in the other room.

"Yeah." She smiled tightly, but her face had grown so thin even the faintest hint of an expression seemed to pull it too taut. "I... made breakfast."

Charlie seemed to perk at this, and not just because he was hungry—to him, any activity from her other than moping was to be taken for a good sign. Well, she hated to disappoint him, but she wasn't getting any better. Day by day, the hole in her chest wasn't getting any smaller, but maybe she could put a little more effort into hiding the fact that it existed... for his sake, at least.

"You really pulled out all the stops," he whistled. He fell into an assembly line, and once he had heaped his plate high with eggs and sausage and hash browns, he sat down across from her and proceeded to eat in silence. She could tell he was trying his best to pretend like it wasn't an uncomfortable one, but she didn't have the energy to join in the pretense.

Charlie intercepted her on her way back up to her room later.

"Bella..." he began. She froze with her hand on the rail, before revolving on the step to face him. "We're almost out of food. You cooked most of it this morning."

"Right... I forgot to mention that to you earlier," she said lamely. Charlie crossed his arms, as if fortifying himself against her reaction to what he was about to say, and then:

"You're coming with me to the store later and I don't want to hear anything more about it. I don't know what we need, and the last time you wrote me a list I wound up losing it. So we're going."

For the second time that morning, Bella attempted a smile. For the second time that morning, she failed miserably.

Five minutes in Forks' only grocery store and she wanted to escape. Bella trailed behind Charlie like a second shadow, averting her gaze when fellow shoppers stopped to converse with her father... which was getting to be every other minute. It seemed everyone had a grievance to share with the police chief, and he always stopped to listen to them politely—he was especially polite when the conversation turned to baseball, which was frequently, seeing as the Mariners were playing a home game that evening.

The adults barely seemed to notice Bella. Still, she itched to be somewhere less public—to be back home, where she could retreat to the privacy of her room and the oblivion of music dialed up to decibels that made thinking impossible.

"I'm going to check out," she mentioned suddenly, interrupting her father's latest conversation. "If you find anything else you need, you should buy it... just remember to keep the receipt."

Charlie grunted. She could feel his eyes following her as she pushed the cart onward towards the register.

Outside, the Washington sky was slate gray behind a flock of temperamental-looking clouds. Everything was wetter than it had been previously—it must have rained while they were inside—but Bella dismissed the observation as soon as it occurred to her as she stumbled towards the curb. The bag the grocer had given her tore open the moment she stepped out onto the street; produce spilled everywhere, and she half-sat, half-collapsed onto the curb, staring around herself in vague disbelief. Things like this shouldn't surprise her anymore—wasn't this her life? Didn't it all come crashing down around her every time she set foot out the door? On her hands and knees, Bella began to gather her purchases, not even bothering to wonder how she was going to carry it all back to the car.

A pale, ghostly hand entered her peripheral to retrieve one of the bruising apples. Bella's eyes lifted, and for the first time in months her heart came out of hibernation. That split-second sighting brought the dormant thing spluttering back to life, as if it had only been fooling her all this time she had thought it dead beyond hope of reviving.

In that moment, it barely registered with her to feel disappointed that the face the hand belonged to wasn't Edward's. The tawny, ancient eyes of Carlisle Cullen met her beneath the curve of an amused, guarded brow, a wane smile so like his adopted son's turning up one corner of his face that she had to wonder if it wasn't an inherited trait after all. His eyes held hers, and as her chin rose in astonishment, his reciprocated, before his gaze slid away again and he had once more bent himself to the task of retrieving the girl's groceries.

"You really should be more careful, Bella."

She propelled herself into his arms before she knew what she was doing. The reckless momentum of her body was hardly enough to upset his balance, but Carlisle huffed a small noise of surprise all the same, the apple falling from his hand as he brought his arms up quickly to receive her. He chuckled, rising to his feet in one fluid move and pulling her gently with him.

"That's going to leave a few bruises," he remarked, his voice low. He kept his hands on her shoulders as she pulled away to scrub futilely at her eyes; tears would only get in the way. If her vision swam for even an instant, and she allowed Carlisle to go out of focus...

He was right about the bruises—her ribcage ached as fiercely as if she had just been punched. Acting on her impulsive desire for contact had been the equivalent of throwing herself headlong into a brick wall, but Bella was beyond caring. She stood frozen in a sea of scattered groceries as Carlisle helped her recover the rest of them, depositing her purchases into his own cloth shopping bag. She could scarcely believe this was real. Was it possible she had fallen asleep in the car on the way over, only for her brain to have concocted some crueler nightmare?

"Carlisle, what are you doing here?" she asked numbly, hoping to catch her brain in the lie. She couldn't allow herself any more lenience than she already had in that last uncontrolled moment. "I thought... Edward said your family had moved..."

It hurt to say his name. It hurt almost more than she could bear, but she had let it out—now—and then she could move past it—quickly—before she slipped in her resolve and asked the one question she most desperately desired an answer to. Carlisle's head raised infinitesimally at the mention of his son, but then he straightened, his arms wrapped around his bag. The contents were arranged in a better order than they had been previously.

"I elected to stay behind for a few more months. We're putting the house on the market, but there are still patients at the hospital who require my attention. I couldn't just leave town in the middle of their recoveries." A look of deep sympathy crossed his thoughtful face, and Bella was forced to avert her gaze; she distracted herself by tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "I am the only one," he added eventually.

"Oh."

Despite being such a small, noncommittal word, it sounded as if someone had had to strangle it out of her. It took all of the girl's willpower then to pull herself back into the present, to raise her head and meet his eyes once more. An awkward moment passed between them before she presented her arms to invite back the groceries, but Carlisle chuckled once more and shook his head.

"Allow me. I take it the squad car is yours?"

Bella nodded, following after him as they wove through the parking lot. She found herself mesmerized by the wonderful white expanse of the man's medical coat, kept immaculately clean despite his profession, and it was all she could do to keep herself from reaching out and grabbing a fistful of it to assure herself that it was real. Everything about Carlisle Cullen was immaculate, but he achieved it effortlessly, and he had a natural air of prestige about him that few could hope to effectively imitate. He popped open the trunk of the car, seemingly in tune to the fact that nobody locked their doors in Forks, and deposited his cargo. When he turned to face her again, Bella lowered her eyes quickly, worrying the hem of her jacket between her fingers. She was painfully aware that she was being scrutinized; Carlisle Cullen's stares could rival the intensity of his son's when they grew clinical.

"Bella," he said quietly, "at the risk of bringing the office home with me, you look a little anemic. Have you been eating?"

She wondered suddenly what he must see when he looked at her. The mirror held no interest for her anymore—admittedly, it never had, at least not in the days before she had met Edward—and Charlie hadn't allowed her to change out of her house clothes for fear of losing his daughter back into black hole dimension that had become her bedroom. She knew she had lost weight, because Jessica liked to complain about it endlessly—but Bella had always been a naturally thin girl, so weight loss had only lent her the painful look of emaciation. There were dark circles beneath her eyes, and the blush that had always rose so readily to her cheeks seemed to have extinguished permanently.

"Only when Charlie makes me," she admitted. Carlisle grunted mildly, as if he had just been read a telling symptom, before raising a hand to feel her forehead. He had done it so many times before that Bella hardly would have noticed it now, had the man's chilling touch not felt so identical to the one she still longed for in the darker, more desperate hours of the night. Her eyebrows drew together helplessly beneath his palm and she shut her eyes tight, wondering if she was about to cry or faint from relief beneath the kind caress.

"Dr. Cullen," a voice intoned. Carlisle drew his hand away, and Bella followed his gaze over her shoulder to find Charlie standing behind them. "Conducting check-ups in the parking lot these days?" He did not sound happy to see him.

"My apologies, Chief Swan. Bella was looking a little ill, that's all."

"I'm fine," Bella informed them both. She wasn't, but Carlisle Cullen's reassuring presence in Forks didn't make it such a lie. "Carlisle was just helping me with the groceries."

Charlie, mentally putting together the equation of Bella and groceries in his head, nodded in understanding, and with a faint grunt he pulled open the car door.

"Doug invited me over to watch the game..." he began hesitantly. He seemed to feel guilty for leaving her alone at the house these days, and Carlisle's presence there was obviously doing nothing for his conscience. "You don't mind eating alone again, do you?"

Bella shook her head, but she made no move to get into the car. Of course she intended to eventually, but... she couldn't bring herself to leave until she knew for certain she would see Carlisle again. She doubted she would manage to secure another meeting with her father looking on now, but she had to try—

"Bella is more than welcome to have dinner with me tonight," Carlisle offered suddenly. Both father and daughter whipped their heads around, but where Charlie's face had gone several shades paler, Bella's appeared to open like a flower at the invitation, blooming with a sudden hint of her old color. "... with your father's permission, of course," Carlisle amended, staring at her meaningfully.

"Really?" Bella whirled. Charlie seemed to be hunting for some excuse to prevent her from going, but it had been months since he had seen his daughter emotionally invest herself in anything, and they both knew he didn't have the heart to refuse her.

"... all right," he conceded gruffly, but Bella was beyond noticing his trepidation. "I'll swing by to pick you up as soon as the game is over."

As Bella turned to follow after Carlisle, her father caught hold of her arm.

"And Bella?"

"What? What is it?" she inquired, her voice catching. She stared at Charlie fearfully, wondering if he could have possibly changed his mind that fast... until, with a defeated sigh, he relinquished his hold and allowed his hand to fall back into his lap.

"Nothing."

Carlisle was watching them over his shoulder. Bella detached herself from the car and hurried after him, looking forward to an evening spent with the father of the boy who had shattered her irreversibly.