AN: Bringing this story back to keep plugging away at it and hopefully finish it!

F/Stop

Prologue

Eternity, I've been told, is a very long time. My personal experiences put very human limitations on eternity, packaging it neatly into a square box that I can easily wrap my hands around. That first car ride "home" when Charlie picked me up from the airport upon my arrival in Forks. That first night, listening to the rain tink against the window and brush against the roof in gusts, like the clouds were blowing out birthday candles. The drive from the security of the chief's house to the high school for the first time, peering over the steering wheel of my new truck and praying I wouldn't run over anyone.

And of course, that first day in biology, sitting beside the enigmatic Edward Cullen.

The same Edward Cullen whose long fingers slid across the ivory keys only a shade apart from his skin. The melody danced around us in the room, prancing through the bands of late afternoon sunlight, but the sound was muffled by my concentration as I watched the bumps under the skin on the back of his hands. They seemed connected to the cables within the piano, like he wasn't actually playing the piano at all, but simply his own bones.

Wordlessly, I rose from the couch and approached. He was used to me doing weird things while he played, and acted as though he hadn't even noticed my movement. The notes continued steadily, though his shoulders twitched the slightest bit and I saw his jaw flex as I lay my fingers gently on his left hand. The melody suddenly simplified as though he were keeping his hand as still as possible for me without ending the song.

I let my fingers rest there a long moment, feeling the notes through his skin. It was mildly creepy but intensely fascinating. The tips of my fingers traced the cables past his wrist and up his forearm, the flexing of his muscles becoming broader and gentler the higher I reached. When my hand brushed his elbow, my fingers dipped beneath the short sleeves of his tee shirt to trace the muscles further.

Instantly he froze, his hands still perched gracefully on the keys, and after a slow breath he asked gently, "Yes, Bella?" I bit back my smile but the edges of his mouth turned up slightly as he tried to remain serious and responsible and all those things I wished he would give up on already

"How long did it take you?" I asked after a moment, returning to my original train of thought.

"Did what take me?"

"To learn to play like that."

He stretched his fingers out against the keys, smiling down at the familiarity, before answering, "I don't know. I had all the time I needed. I didn't exactly keep a practice log, Bella." He smiled at me, his crooked grin matching the sudden energy as his hands ran up the keys in a scale. Up a half step and he played the new scale, then up another half step, another scale. Playing the piano was the simplest thing in the world to him. Of course. It had been easy for him to master the instrument when he had eternity at his finger tips.

"Right."

"Why do you ask?" he inquired, his fingers falling still again. I wished he would continue to play while he talked; every note seemed to harmonize perfectly with his voice. "Do you want to learn?"

"No," I shrugged. "I mean . . . I would never be as good as you . . . and it's sort of your thing, anyway. I like listening to you play, and it just wouldn't be the same."

"And what's your 'thing'?" His grin had become the smile of a parent whose child is misusing a word, or trying to tell a joke they don't understand. I hated it; it made me feel stupid and small, even though I knew he didn't mean anything by it. I should have been glad I could amuse him, I know, but usually it just reminded me of one more way in which I didn't measure up to him. That grin made me feel our ninety-year age difference.

I gave him a stern stare, "It's a serious concern, Edward." He laughed at my attempt and shook his head, his fingers silently clicking along the keys without pushing down. "I'm trying to decide how I'm going to spend eternity, here."

"Oh, and here I thought you had decided you would be spending it with me?" He gave me an eyebrow lift and a sideways glance. My impending change –for I refused to think of it as anything but impending, even if I had yet to convince Edward of this—was never discussed in seriousness with him. Again, he would give me that condescending smile, like I was a six-year-old telling him I planned on growing up to be a ballerina or an astronaut. I'd hope he would support me in either of those endeavors, so why was he so opposed to something much more practical? Vampire.

I rolled my eyes to show him I was not joking, and insisted, "I am. That's not what I'm debating. It's just that everyone has their thing, and I want a thing. What am I going to do when you're holed up in here composing?"

"Listen?"

"You know what I mean. You have your music. Alice has fashion and Esme has art and Carlisle has medicine. Jasper has, what, war tactics and legal stuff to scrutinize and Rosalie has cars and Emmett has . . . well, Rosalie. And sports, I guess. But I don't have a thing." I sat beside him as I said this and he twisted to face me, our shins pressing together on the piano bench. His eyes stared intently at my shoe and I wondered if he was even listening to me. But of course he was. Edward was always listening.

"You like to read," he pointed out, but I shrugged, "That's not really a thing."

"You could write."

"And publish? Becoming a celebrated author is probably not the best way to hide what I am."

"You're a human, Bella," he reminded pointedly, and I gave him what I hoped was a chastising look. It just made him grin. "But it's good to see you so confident in your writing abilities. Celebrated, huh?"

"Well I'll have eternity to hone my skills. But I wouldn't be able to publish unless I do the whole pseudonym thing or something . . . Or, what, just write hundreds of amazing novels and leave the only copies to gather dust on our shelves?"

"I'd read them," he offered. "And it's been done before." I thought about asking who, but later. I was determined not to let him sidetrack me right now.

Instead I snorted, "They'd probably all be about you anyways."

"You are far too enamored by me," he laughed. "I don't deserve any of your attention." His fingers were tapping at my jeans mindlessly and I wondered what he was thinking. Maybe he was composing a song on my calf muscle. Usually he stared hard into my face when I spoke, unsettlingly so, leaving me fumbling over my words and blushing at his intense scrutiny. He was pretty mellow today, though, and I wished desperately to read his mind. At least he can't read mine, either, I mused stubbornly. What an unfair advantage that would have been. If I was going to spend the rest of eternity over-analyzing his every move, he had to as well.

With a shrug, I joked, "Probably not. Every talent needs their muse, though, right? I'd just write . . . An Illinois Vampire in Chief Swan's Precinct. Or A Day in the Life of Edward Cullen. How about Lady Swan's Lover? "

"Dr. Cullen and Mr. Hyde?"

"Which one are you?" I teased with a smirk.

"Which one was the monster again?"

"Oh, please," I rolled my eyes and gave his arm a hard shove and he moved his shoulders to pretend it actually had some effect. He was so absurd sometimes. As if there were anything monstrous about the man sitting in front of me, as if even a splinter of badness could be found in his marble body. It was a hopeless argument at this point; neither of us would budge. Even knowing the natural lifestyle of a vampire, which Edward didn't partake of anyways, I was proud of my argument that really, he was just abiding by the food chain. Like a lion hunting a gazelle. It just so happened that vampires were at the top, not humans. If he was a monster, so was I to cows, chickens, and carrots. Really, it was a valid point. A+ for me.

He accused me of being cold to my species; I insisted I identified more with vampires anyways. He bemoaned my unhealthy obsession with them; I threatened to join the Evanescence fanclub and dress in all black. He bought me all the albums; I sang the songs full out, particularly ones that mentioned blood and beating hearts, as double punishment, because his joke had backfired, and because my voice was awful. Singing was certainly not going to be my thing unless the change wrought miracles on my vocal chords.

"Well what are you good at?" he asked, as though he didn't already know the answer.

"Nothing."

"Bella . . ."

"It's true," I laughed, poking his shoulder. "Name my talent. And no, attracting trouble, blushing, and fainting can not be my thing."

"Though you do have the market cornered on those three things . . . But I still think you should go with reading and writing," he insisted. He held his hands up in surrender. I twined our fingers together and stared at our joined hands. His cold skin, once so surprising, was now simply a familiar comfort, a soothing reminder of my infallible boyfriend's unfathomable dedication to me.

"Although," he mused, and suddenly his lips twisted into an impish smirk that made me want to push him back, fall on top, and do terrible things to him. Frequently that was the effect he had on me, but I tried to brush the thoughts from my mind and focus on his smooth voice. "Although, it's very possible that if you change, I will abandon music completely."

I frowned and argued, "No, I would never let you do that. That's part of the reason I need a thing, so you don't have to spend all your time trying to entertain me."

"But Bella, you would be my new thing."

I blushed. How else does one respond to that? Nothing is appropriate. The only response my brain could formulate . . . was to push him back, fall on top, and do terrible things to him. And this time, that was entirely his fault.

He laughed at my distress, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't say things like that."

"No, you shouldn't, you big jerk."

Again he laughed, his teeth glittering between his red lips, before confessing, "I just don't think you need to be worrying about it, is all."

"Forever's a long time, Edward."

He sighed and now his smile was gone, "Exactly, Bella."