I don't own these characters. They are the sole property of Stephenie Meyer. I only borrow them. No humans are permanently harmed through my actions, though I do confess to harassing, annoying, torturing, and exasperating them – just because it's fun. I make no money from my little stories, sad day. I only play in the sandbox, I didn't build it.

Author's Note: I know I said two weeks, but this chapter just sort of wrote itself. I'm not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing, but I guess we'll see. I can't promise such fast updates forever, but I thought I'd enjoy it while I could. I hope you like...

Chapter 2: What is Left Behind

He could feel the texture of the armrest under his hand. He felt the buckle of the seatbelt pressing into his gut. He turned, looking across the empty seat to the one by the aisle. She was sitting there, as she always was. Her expression looked odd, as if it was a photograph badly photo-shopped onto the body that occupied the seat. Her eyes met his, and though her expression never changed, she managed to convey her terror.

He reached out and took her hand, her fingers locked around his. The plane dropped sharply and her fingers tightened. His gut rebelled and he had to close his eyes. When he opened them, her eyes were closed and her lips were moving. He wanted to pray but the words were all jumbled in his head. One simple request came through. "Please..."

And then God said no.

The plane was no longer dropping; it was racing toward the ground, embracing its destruction. One look at her face and he knew that they both accepted it was hopeless and their hands tightened around each other's, keeping hold until the very last sec-

~~~AATG~~~

It was the same dream that ripped him from his sleep. He woke up panting and covered in a cold sweat. Blinking at the dark room, he turned after a moment to stare at the clock. "Fuck," he muttered. He sat up on the edge of the bed and wiped the sweat from his face. It had been a while since he had had the dream. A year to be exact.

It still had the power to destroy him, if only temporarily.

Edward took a deep, calming breath like the counselor had advised all those years ago. He let the cold, sick feeling in his gut pass from him with that breath. He let it go. Then he snorted. As if it was that easy.

Out of habit, he reached out for a cigarette, his hand patting down the surface of the bedside table before he remembered. He'd quit smoking – almost a decade ago. It was funny how the urge hit him every now and then. It always did after the dream. It had been a year since he'd wanted a cigarette too.

Knowing that he would get no more sleep that night, he got to his feet and wandered into the kitchen. He pulled out the carton of orange juice and drank directly from it. It didn't matter; he was the only one who lived here. With a shrug, he finished it off. Automatically, he added orange juice to his grocery list.

He picked up his cell phone, noting that a text had arrived at 1:27 that morning, just an hour ago. He smiled when he opened it. Apparently, Rose hadn't been finding sleep any easier to come by than he had. On impulse, he texted her back.

You awake?

While he waited for her reply, he rummaged around in the freezer. Some ice cream would hit the spot right now and luckily he had a bit of Rocky Road left. He was eating out of the carbon when his phone vibrated across the counter.

It wasn't a text, it was a call. Rosalie.

"Hey," he answered. His voice sounded gruff and raspy. He cleared his throat.

"Hey," she answered. "Are you doing okay?" Then she sighed. "Of course you're not. I'm not either, but..." She blew out a breath. "Yeah. You know how it is."

"I do," he assured her. He turned on the light and squinted at the calendar. June 10th, 2009. "It's hard to believe it's been ten years."

"Yeah," she agreed. They both fell silent, unable to say the words they wanted to say, but unwilling to break the connection between them. They were the surviving Cullen children, but they were defined by the one who was missing.

He stood there in his kitchen, a silent phone pressed to his ear and thought about the past ten years. The first year had been the worst, and Edward had been on a campaign of self-destruction that even his parents couldn't stop. Then one day he had stumbled down the stairs of his parents' home, still too drunk to be hung over, and seen Rose crying as she stared out the window.

"What's doing, sis?" he'd asked, more out of habit than concern. He hadn't cared much about anyone except himself for what seemed a lifetime.

She had turned to face him fully then, her expression bleak, her eyes hard. "Sometimes, I wish it had been me," she said softly.

"What?" Surely she couldn't mean –

"Sometimes," she repeated slowly, as if he was stupid. "I wish...it had been me."

"Don't you fucking say that!" Edward felt anger rush through him, the first genuine emotion besides self-pity or grief that he'd felt in a year. "Why would you fucking say that?" He crossed over to her in swift strides, taking her shoulders in his hands and shaking her hard. "Why the fuck would you-"

"Because," she'd whispered. "I lost Ellis, and now I've lost you too. I can't stand it. I'd rather be dead!" With that, she had pulled away and run up the stairs, leaving her big brother to stare after her. "Ellis would hate to see what you are now!" She threw the words over her shoulder and he felt them impale him.

He'd stood there, completely still and silent for a long moment. And then he had crumpled to the floor and wept, the first tears he had allowed himself to cry since that day in the airport. He had puked after it was all over; had cried so hard he puked. At some point, his parents found him. His mother was rocking him in her arms, sitting on the floor with him gathered to her like a baby, when he'd come to his senses.

But that had been the turning point. A few weeks later, Edward was enrolled in college again. He started eating again, regaining some of the twenty pounds he'd lost since Ellis's death. He went out on a date, though it was awkward and uncomfortable. Still, he was making the effort.

It took him only one semester of college to figure out that his old major just wasn't what he wanted anymore. Before the plane crash, he had been determined to be a financial whiz kid. He expected to be a millionaire by his 30th birthday, a billionaire by his 40th. Ellis had teased him about being the master of all he surveyed. Ellis had always been the less reserved and driven of the two, and he had been the one who wanted to follow in their parents' educator footsteps. He wanted to be a science teacher. Edward had wanted to change the world, one hostile takeover at a time.

Edward changed his major, deciding instead to be a teacher. His parents were shocked but delighted. His father was Headmaster at a small but prestigious school; his mother was a professor at the University of Washington. At first they had been concerned that he was trying to become Ellis or some shit like that, but eventually he convinced them that he'd simply had a change of heart. He wasn't trying to become Ellis; he was trying to become the Edward of whom Ellis would have been proud. Suddenly, the financial wheelings and dealings just seemed...insignificant.

He wanted to make a difference.

He had been silent too long and he heard Rose say softly, "Are you still going there today?"

"Yeah," he answered. "I know it's probably morbid and weird, but I just..." He sighed. "It feels right."

"I get it," Rose answered. "Do you want me to go with you?"

"No," he told her. "Actually, I think I need to be on my own." Like he had been that day.

"Okay," she replied. "But call me if...well, if you change your mind."

"Will do," he said. "And Rose?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you, and thanks...for being you," he said. Another lesson he had learned from Ellis's death. There were no guarantees of tomorrow. Don't hold back words that you felt today, because you might not get another chance.

"I love you too," she said with a hint of laughter. "Even if you look like a troll." It was an old joke between them, comparing his fucked up hair to that of the troll doll she'd owned as a little girl.

"You're just jealous," he accused with a snort. "This hair is the stuff of girls' fantasies and you know it! They all want to run their fingers through it, babe."

"If that's what helps you sleep at night," she retorted and then, ever a fan of getting the last word, she hung up on him.

~~~~AATG~~~~

Bella Swan was staring at her ceiling. Beside her, the clock ticked the seconds and minutes off with agonizing slowness. Finally, with a sigh of surrender, she slid from between the sheets and made her way out to the living room. She curled up on her sofa, pulling the quilt her mother had made her for her thirteenth birthday over her legs.

June 10th

It was a day that defined her life, destroying the old life and making way for a new one. She looked at the picture on her bookshelf. It was the last picture taken of her mother, taken just the day before she'd left to go to Florida to nurse her sick mother.

Grabbing the quilt and wrapping it around her shoulders, Bella went out onto the balcony. It was a warm summer night, but the chill that affected her came within. The quilt was her armor, her warmth.

Gazing up into the sky, Bella picked out the various constellations that her mother had taught her. There was comfort in the simple, familiar act. Looking up at the vastness of the stars had always been one of Renee Swan's favorite night time activities, and she had passed along that love to her daughter.

"Look at them, Bella," Renee had said that spring before the crash. "They're too many too count and they'll be here long after you and I are gone." She had laughed then. "But we take a little bit of them with us when we admire their beauty. We're insignificant to those stars, like ants to giants, but they still brighten our skies and give us a view of their majesty to keep as our own."

Her mother had had a poetic turn of phrase.

Now, on the tenth anniversary of her mother's death, she found comfort in looking at the sky. She was not surprised to hear her cell phone go off. Charlie and his new wife, Sue, had moved to South Carolina last year, just after they got married. Bella had expected to hate any woman Charlie married; instead she had been given a friend and a confidante. It had helped of course that her mother and Sue Clearwater had been best friends.

"Hello," she answered.

Sue's warm voice came over the phone. "I told you she'd be awake, Charlie!"

Bella walked back out to the balcony so she could see the sun when it rose in a few minutes. "I'm awake," she said.

"We just wanted to see how you were doing," Sue said. "I know how hard this day is for you...and for Charlie." That was the wonderful thing about Sue; she had never tried to replace Renee in either of their lives. She had simply made her own place.

"I'm fine," Bella said and then sighed. "I mean, I'm okay. Not fine, but I'm dealing."

Her father's voice came over the phone. "I miss you, baby girl."

"I miss you too, Daddy," she said.

"What are your plans today?" Charlie asked.

"I don't know," she replied. "I haven't decided." That was a lie. She had made her decision weeks ago. She was making a pilgrimage of sorts to the place where everything had changed.

"Call me later," Charlie encouraged. "Sue and I are thinking of you."

"I love you guys," Bella said. "So much."

"Yeah, kiddo, we love you too."