A/N: Not actually a fan of Twilight, but this plot bunny attacked me and refused to leave. I may or may not write a sequel at some point

She is pale, not alabaster like him, just pale and almost transparent. He can see her bones through the folded layers of thin skin and they look fragile, like compressed white dust, ready to fall apart at the lightest touch.

Edward's hand strokes over her hair, it used to look like silver, shining, reflecting the sunlight. Now, lying here on their (her) bed in the darkness, it's only matte and dull grey.

"You're so…" He means to say beautiful, but somewhere along the way the word changes shape and escapes his mouth as weak, because that's what she is, she's only a human, just a little insignificant thing put out in the world, expected to make it all on her own.

No. She isn't insignificant; she's his world and his little darling.

"This is what you wanted, remember?" There isn't any bitterness in her voice, it just sounds tired and defeated, but still she stares at him with some sort of I told you so-eyes. Because, he realizes, she always knew this would be the end if he never changed her, despite him thinking that there would always be a day tomorrow, another couple years to wait. She always knew she would grow old and he would stay the same, and he knew that too, but he never really grasped the concept of that until now.

"I…" He didn't think, not this far. He thought, he knew, he would stay with her no matter what and he still stands by that, but this is different. He was prepared to watch her grow old and wrinkly with grey hair. Knew that it would make her uncomfortable when he would trace the lines in her face, but she never understood that the more visible the lines got, the more he loved her. It somehow made him feel more normal.

What he wasn't prepared for though, was that as she grew older her body got weaker. That though never crossed his mind when he watched her teasing Emmett as playful as ever or the time she fell from the tree trying to climb up after him and she just laughed at her own clumsiness. That's the Bella he fell in love with and even if he loves this old, wrinkly Bella with paper-skin and dark circles under her eyes, he will never get the young and carefree girl back. But oh, how he wishes he could. Not just for his sake, but for her as well.

But because of his selfish, stubbornness Bella will never be so fresh and alive again, she won't ever run or jump or fight his tickling again, never again. The meaning of never is suddenly so big and he feels so small and pointless not being able to fight it. He should be able to give her all those years back, all those years she spent begging and waiting for him to give in. In trying to give her life, he instead snatched it away from her.

Bella's always been his princess and she deserves a happily ever after, but he's been too selfish, only doing as he wanted, ignoring all her wishes. He could have given her eternity and all she got was a tired body.

"Bella?" He strokes his thumb across her jaw. Her cheeks stay colourless and her breath doesn't even hitch.

"Yes"

"I was thinking… maybe we could go to the meadow and I could… I could change you." It was meant as a request, but coming from his lips it sounds like a plea, which perhaps at some point in his life, when he was younger, have wounded his pride a bit, but with Bella he doesn't care.

"Oh, Edward." She looks at him sad, so unbearably sad and he wants to take the sadness off her, carry it far away and throw over the edge of the world, cursing it to faraway galaxies with his damned soul. He wants to make sure she never again feels it, but her eyes tell him he can't, because her sadness isn't for her, it's for someone else and Edward isn't sure he understands. But he does, he does understand and he wish and hope he doesn't, he begs to God, and Gods he doesn't believe in, that oh-God he doesn't want to understand and please take this burden of understanding away.

He shakes his head, "No. No, Bella. No. Please no." he has to tell her that she can't just give up like this, not only accepting death, but even welcoming it. But the words won't form on his tongue – or at least not the right words, the words that will convince her that life is so much more than this, and now she can finally have all she wanted – so instead he repeats "No, Bella, no, no, no. Please."

Bella soothes him and presses the flat of her hand on his cheek, "Shhhh, Edward." she looks into his eyes with determination and her voice is as soft as her lips when they touch his forehead in a tender and warm kiss. Then with a clear and steady voice she says "We'll talk about it in the morning, yeah? I'm tired now and I want to sleep." Almost as an afterthought she adds, "I'm not going anywhere." her voice hard and low and full of promises before the warm and oh-so light press of Bella's hand disappears as she curls up into herself a bit and closes her eyes.

For a few minutes Edward watches her eyelids flutter restlessly, waiting for her to be dragged further and further away from him and this night and into worlds of her own creation, where hopefully she has everything she wants and no one is denying her anything.

When finally her chest rises and falls in a deep set rhyme and her breath comes on long heavy drags, Edward rolls over on his back staring up at the ceiling. Even after all the years he's spent this way, lying beside a sleeping Bella in the night just listening to her breath, he never gets tired of it and he would willingly spend hundreds of years like this. The rhythmic sound of her heart beating calmly in her chest is the most wonderful thing he's ever heard in his entire life.

It's strange really, how he's seen so much of the world, been to so many places, met so many people, even tasted human blood and none of that has ever made him feel the way the human beside him has. All those memories and adventures he could have given up just to spend forever with Bella. He's been so lucky to have done all those things and still have this beautiful creature with him, trusting him enough to sleep so peaceful beside him.

It doesn't matter anymore that his soul is damned, because he's never going to Hell. He's going to live forever with Bella by his side and they're never going to die.

It takes a moment for him to realize that the room is quiet. That not a sound is heard, not even the beating of a heart.

"Bella!" He rolls over on his side. "Isabella!"

No-no-no-no-no-no. Quickly he's on his hands and knees, hovering over her silent body. He shakes her, trying to be careful, but it's difficult restraining himself when he sees the way her head bob back and forth. Carlisle had taught him what to do in a situation like this, just in case. Edward tries to remember, but all he can think is Bella's body lying dead in front of him. There was something about restarting the heart wasn't it? He has to..

In a rush he places his hands upon her chest over her not beating heart. Slowly he starts to press, up and down. One, two, three, four, not stopping when he reach thirty, only pressing harder and faster. The sudden sound of something shattering is loud and sharp in the too quiet room. He snaps out of his press harder-faster daze.

He's not going to give up, he can still save her.

With swift hands he tears her sleeping gown apart and sinks his teeth into her flesh, as close as possible to her heart. Letting the teeth sink deep into her, the taste of her blood seems unfamiliar and strange on his tongue. As quickly as they sank into the skin, the teeth are snatched out.

Then he places his hands over her soon beating heart again. This time he is harder, forgetting all about her being a human. His hands break through her ribs as he stares intently at her face. Save her, save her.

It's not until the rusty smell fills his nostrils, that he realizes he's broken through her thin skin. Mixed feelings of shock and disgust shoots through him as he looks down at his own hands buried deep in the dead body, between shattered ribs and blood and flesh. That's a heart. That's her heart. And it's not beating. It's not beating. Not beating.

The realization of it pushes up his throat and he chokes on it. The last five desperate minutes summoned up in one dry sob. It feels like he should be gasping for breath, but he can't, so it grows like a soreness through him. His eyes feel dry and painful, he tries to close them, to wet them just a bit, but it doesn't work. Bella's dead, and he couldn't save her. Bella's dead.

No, she can't be. It can't be real, but the aching in his chest is there to remind him that it is, that there is no escaping this, that Bella's never going to smile at him ever again. His limbs feel dead and tired and still so strong and powerful.

He gets up from the bed and doesn't bother to wash off the blood. His hand goes through the window and the wall; it tears the door off its hinges. Glass and plates shatter on the floor and Bella's favourite mug hits the wall. Pictures still in their frames are torn apart. The bathroom-mirror goes to a couple thousand shiny, red pieces and Edward's hand doesn't even get a scratch, as a cruel reminder of just how deadalive he really is.

He's dead and still he's alive, he doesn't need a beating heart and he can't die of broken heart, despite how much he prays for it. Death is in his nature and still it isn't, it's something he won't ever meet with open arms, ready to pass on beyond this shadow of a life. To him, death is something that must be forced. And if it is forced it won't bring him to Bella. Death can only bring him peace, but never Bella.

The thought of it is so heavy that it's enough to drag him down on floor, among heaps of broken glass; to make him curl up in a tight ball, clenching his arms hard around his legs as he screams his useless heart out into his knees.