Note: Just a reminder that this is an outtake for "Touching Solitude," which is an AU tale set in the early 1900s.


I was able to smother the flames fairly quickly, never more grateful for my enhanced speed than during those moments when I fought to preserve my home and protect my wife and daughter.

It wasn't until I stood in the smoke-filled room, eyes searching for anything still smoldering, that I realized I could smell blood beneath the thick odor of smoke. The room remained hazy. I looked down, and then I noticed the broken glass littering the floor. I was standing on several large shards, but of course they had not penetrated by stony skin. Bright crimson smears streaked the area between the burnt wall and the doorway.

I remembered with a pang that Bella and Charlotte had both been barefoot. Sparing another moment to ensure that the fire was fully extinguished, I stepped from the kitchen. I could hear slightly labored breaths and rough coughs from Bella and Charlotte; the smoke had entered their lungs. The front door was open, but they remained in the house, huddled together just inside the door. I lifted both in my arms and carried them out to the porch.

My first priority was their breathing. I sat down, Charlotte in my lap and Bella at my side, my arms cradling both.

"Try to breathe slowly," I encouraged, my voice shaky. I rubbed a hand over Charlotte's back as she coughed again.

She twisted her body, her little arms coming around me to hold on as tightly as she could. "Daddy," she whimpered.

"Sshh, darling, it's all right now," I said as calmly as I could.

Bella was leaning heavily against me. Her heart was still thudding, and her breathing was ragged. Her hand lifted to rest over Charlotte's back, then she raised her terrified eyes to mine.

"Edward, is… she all right?" she rasped. Her face was ashen, and I could feel the tremors that shook her.

I took several long seconds to assess my daughter before answering. I rested my hand over her cheek, feeling a slight heaviness in my chest and a deeper ache in my feet.

Then I lifted her little body so that I could press my ear against her chest, listening carefully to her lungs. While there was clearly some irritation, there did not appear to be any significant damage.

I lowered her into my lap again, wrapping my arm securely around her. She was still crying softly. As she curled against me, I kissed her cheek then moved my gaze to Bella. I gave her a nod. She exhaled slowly in relief before her eyes moved down to my lap.

There was blood on my thighs. Charlotte's feet were smeared with red. A glance at my wife's feet confirmed that she had been cut, too. However, I knew she would insist that I examine our daughter first.

"Let me see you feet, sweetheart," I said as I gently shifted Charlotte and lifted her ankles. She had several deep lacerations on her soles, and glass remained in two of the wounds. I winced, again feeling the ache in my own feet, knowing that her pain was much worse.

Fortunately none of the wounds bled profusely. But I would need to remove the glass and clean each laceration thoroughly.

"Bella?" I questioned, nodding toward her feet.

She swallowed. I could tell that she was now beginning to smell the blood. "I'm all right," she said softly. "Take care of her. Please."

Bella's legs were curled beside her. I could see the bottoms of her feet well enough to determine that her wounds bled only minimally now. I spared a few moments to listen to her breathing. It was somewhat harsher than Charlotte's, and her voice was ragged. Her throat was undoubtedly sore from the smoke inhalation. I needed to look at it, but I understood that my wife would not permit me to treat her until our daughter had been attended to.

I began to shift Charlotte into Bella's arms, intending to stand.

"Daddy!" she cried, clinging to me tighter.

"It's all right, baby," I said. "I'm just going to go inside and open all the windows to let the smoky smell out."

"No, Daddy, there's fire!" she sobbed.

"No, angel, the fire's out," I explained. "All the flames are gone."

Bella was nodding, grasping Charlotte's tiny hands. "It's all right, honey—"

But Charlotte buried her head beneath my chin, shaking again. "'M sorry," she mumbled between sobs.

"Darling, you have nothing to be sorry for," I replied.

Her sobs grew stronger. I kissed her hair and continued rubbing her back. I looked at Bella questioningly. "What happened?" I murmured.

"I was at the stove," she explained quietly, "and she was at the table. She must have knocked over that large crystal bowl I'd put the peaches in. I heard the crash and I turned to look, then I began cleaning it up… I don't know how it happened…" She took a shaky breath then coughed. "When I turned back to the stove, the curtain was on fire. The flame must have leapt up…I don't know… " Tears filled her eyes.

"It's no one's fault," I assured her, then I lifted Charlotte's chin so that she would look at me. "Did you hear me, angel? This wasn't your fault." I kissed her forehead.

She blinked up at me, sniffling, then she hugged me again. Her heart was still beating very quickly; she remained upset. Bella reached for Charlotte as I passed her over. This time our daughter did not protest. She simply clung to her mother as tightly as she had clung to me.

I hurried inside to open all the windows, pulling on a pair of trousers and a shirt while I was upstairs. Then I inspected the kitchen once more to assure myself that I had smothered all the embers. I spared a few moments to sweep up the broken glass, dumping it into the refuse bin before returning to the porch.

I carried my girls inside, swiftly going up to our bedroom. I didn't want Bella to walk until I had treated her feet. Charlotte appeared calmer by the time I set her and Bella on the bed. I retrieved my Gladstone bag from the hallway then returned to my family.

Bella was sitting up against the pillows I'd placed at the headboard, holding Charlotte at her side. I removed the items I would require from my bag then sat down, placing my little girl's feet in my lap.

"This is going to sting a bit," I cautioned.

Charlotte flinched, her brow puckering. "Don't hurt me, Daddy."

"Oh, precious," I said, caressing her ankle with my thumb, "you know your Daddy never wants to see you hurting. But I have to clean these cuts. You know we've talked about that before." Like most young children, Charlotte had gotten her share of scrapes, despite my best efforts to keep her from all harm. She had endured the bite of antiseptic numerous times.

"So they don't get 'fectered," she recalled soberly.

"That's right," I confirmed gently. "We don't want these to get infected. That could make you sick."

The image of Bella's leg when she had suffered from septacaemia would never fade from my flawless memory. I was always careful to clean cuts assiduously.

Charlotte's gave me a somber nod. "'Kay, Daddy."

Bella wrapped her arms around her and pressed a kiss to her crown. "You're such a brave girl."

"I don't want your feet to get 'fectered, either, Momma," Charlotte said, then she looked at me again. "Don't let her get sick, Daddy."

"I'll take care of her as soon as I'm finished with you," I assured her. "Momma will be fine, I promise."

Charlotte blinked back tears as I carefully inspected each foot and used tweezers to extract the bits of glass embedded in her skin. I worked as quickly as possible, but I could still feel twinges prickle on the soles of my own feet. The prickling was sharper when I began cleaning the lacerations with carbolic solution. I knew Charlotte was experiencing considerably greater pain. However, she did not cry out; she merely sniffled as tears streaked her cheeks.

I bandaged my daughter's tiny feet, kissing the tops of her toes as I finished with each foot. Then I examined her legs, arms, and hands carefully in case she had suffered any burns. She had some smoky smudges on her skin, but aside from the cuts she appeared uninjured.

Still, I wanted to check her lungs again. I removed my stethoscope and listened intently at her chest and back as she inhaled and exhaled numerous times. With relief, I said, "Everything sounds fine. Let me look at your throat, sweetheart."

Charlotte opened her mouth obediently as Bella tilted her head back. There was some redness and irritation in Charlotte's pharynx, but there was no swelling. She was coughing less, too. As I rested my fingers against her neck, I noticed that my throat felt mildly dry and vaguely sore.

I kissed the tip of Charlotte's nose when I was finished, telling her, "It might feel a little sore when you swallow. Tell me if it starts to feel worse."

"Yes, Daddy," she agreed. "Now fix Momma, please."

"Absolutely," I replied.

Charlotte moved to snuggle at Bella's side while I examined her throat. While it showed more irritation than Charlotte's, there was no swelling. I gave Bella a nod of relief then listened to her lungs. There were no significant bronchospasms or bronchoconstriction, but I would check her periodically over the next few hours to ensure there were no lingering issues.

"Momma got burned," Charlotte informed me as I set aside my stethoscope.

"It's not bad," Bella said, holding out her hand to me.

I found a burn on the inside of her wrist. It hadn't blistered, but the skin was reddened and very tender.

"Were you burned elsewhere?" I asked, my eyes now raking over her.

"No," she responded, "I don't think so."

"All right." I squeezed her hand gently. "Let me get your feet taken care of."

Bella had sustained several more lacerations than Charlotte, and the shards were embedded more deeply in her skin. I removed each piece then applied the carbolic thoroughly. Bella's sharp inhalations told me that the process was painful, but she did not make any other noises. She simply sat with Charlotte's hand in hers, her grip never tightening.

After I had bandaged Bella's feet, I applied salve to her burn. Then I filled a basin with warm, soapy water and so that I could wipe the soot from my wife's and child's faces and hands. Now that the crisis had passed and her injuries were treated, Charlotte was growing sleepy, her little body exhausted from the event.

However, as I sat down on the edge of the bed, washcloth in my hand, Charlotte's drowsy gaze lowered to my feet. I had not taken the time to put on shoes; my feet remained bare.

"Daddy," Charlotte said, her eyes opening fully now, "your feets."

"Hmm?" I questioned, lifting my leg and rotating my ankle to inspect my sole. There was soot on my skin. "I'll wash them later, sweetheart," I said.

Charlotte's delicate little brow was deeply furrowed. "But Daddy," she began, scooting forward to touch my foot with her tiny finger, "you don't have cuts."

"Oh," I acknowledged, understanding that she must have been worried about me. "No, darling, I'm fine."

She shook her head, her curls bobbing. "But why, Daddy? Why don't you have cuts like Momma and me?" she persisted.

Bella glanced at me quickly then replied, "Because Daddy didn't step in any glass."

"Yes he did!" she said. "I saw him." Her finger lingered on my hard, smooth sole as her eyes rose to my face. Her brow remained pinched in confusion. "Daddy, I saw you standing in the glass. How come it didn't cut you?" She poked experimentally at my foot, her touch less tentative now.

Thinking back now, I realized that she'd had a clear view of me from her position in the hallway. She had watched as I walked over the jagged shards to get Bella, then as I stepped in them again to carry her from the kitchen.

Bella took a sharp breath then coughed. Her coughing continued, and her eyes began to water.

"Momma?" Charlotte questioned, her attention now on her mother.

Bella gave her a nod but could not speak yet.

"I'll get you some water, love," I said, hastening to the bathroom to fill a glass from the faucet.

I returned to sit beside her, rubbing a hand over her back as she sipped slowly. She was flushed now, a thin sheen of perspiration on her cheeks and brow. I reached for my stethoscope so that I could listen to her lungs again. I heard no worrisome sounds; the irritation was most likely in her throat.

Charlotte was pale, her small hand clasping Bella's skirt. As soon as Bella could take a steady breath, she said, "I'm all right, sweetie."

"You and Momma both need to rest," I said.

For the moment Charlotte seemed to have forgotten her question. I smoothed her hair with my hand and began humming softly. Both Charlotte and Bella appeared to enjoy the song I had created for my wife in the days following our first interactions. Charlotte grew drowsy again, and soon she had fallen asleep cradled in Bella's arms.

I shifted my daughter so that her head rested on the pillows then pulled Bella into my embrace. "Oh sweetheart," I murmured, kissing her hair.

She shuddered against me, and I smelled to salt of her tears. "I'm sorry," she whispered, then silent sobs shook her.

"Sshh," I soothed, "everything's fine. Charlotte will be all right; you kept her safe."

She shook her head. "It was my fault. I shouldn't have left the bowl so close to the edge of the table, and I should have been watching her—"

"No," I began, "if anyone is to blame, it's me. I should have been listening—"

She did not seem to hear me. "Oh Edward, what if you hadn't been home? What if—"

I pressed my hand to her cheek. "No what-ifs, love. It was an accident; things happen. There's no point in dwelling on it. The only thing that matters is that you and Charlotte are all right."

Her sobs subsided after a few minutes, but I continued to hold her and kiss her face and hair. Suddenly she drew in a sharp breath and looked up at me.

"Oh God," she said, touching my face with shaking fingers. "The fire… That's the one thing you've told me that can harm you—"

I shook my head. "Never in a situation like this," I told her quickly and firmly. "Fire can only harm one of my kind if we're… incapacitated, to a very significant degree. As long as I'm able to extinguish the flames, they can't hurt me."

She nodded in relief. However, as her hand moved automatically to stroke Charlotte's hair, her expression turned worried again. "What are we going to tell her?" she asked.

I knew she was referring to our daughter's comment about my skin. "I'm not sure," I replied honestly. "Perhaps she'll forget for the time being."

"Your daughter forget?" She gave me a wan smile. "I don't think so." With a sigh, she added, "I suppose we knew this day would come. I was just hoping we'd have a little longer."

I could hear her heart beating quickly.

I kissed her brow. "It'll be all right, love," I assured her.

However, the fresh tears shimmering in her eyes told me that my words had done little to soothe her fear.


To be concluded...