Disclaimer: SM owns everything in the Twiverse, but please don't steal my plot.

WOW, has it really been six weeks?!

Okay. Looks like I need to confess.

I''ve been considering deleting this fic and penning a three one-shot sequel to Black Ice, a much-condensed version of my plans for the rest of the saga.

See... I fear I've lost my Roseward mojo—beyond the confusion my recent unexplained health troubles have caused. It's like… the magic of this story to me is Roseward themselves, their dynamic and energy, and that magic is lost by their necessary separation. I don't want to give y'all a sub-par product, yet I know three one-shots, no matter how thorough, could never hit all the emotional/psychological notes I seek to explore with the rest of their journeys to Bella and Emmett.

BIGFATHEAVYSIGH.

I'm still mulling it over, but I wanted to post this chapter at least. I don't know. Maybe I'm just lost because Ed is so lost right now.

And maybe Rosalie can help us both.

Chapter 3: A Walk in the Woods

Rosalie's POV

I sit on a rock in the forest, taking in the sights and sounds of the afternoon. Once addicted to the hustle and bustle of society, I am now most at ease among the wordlessness of God's creation.

What a strange creature I have become, an alien unto myself.

One year ago, I was lost in quiet contemplation, deciding whether to follow or lead my heart. I was spoiled, rottenly so, believing I had an eternity ahead of me.

Of us.

There were no labels, no titles or names bestowed, but we had no need of such things because we knew the truth. We knew what we were, what we wanted and why. And we were content.

Or so I'd thought.

Hindsight is many things, it seems, though helpful is not one of them.

I know less now than I did when he left.

Though much eludes me, I am able to think of him, if only circumspectly, without debilitating pain. He hovers in my every moment, his velvety voice haunting me with its accusations and ache. But as I now know his location, I am better able to handle the deprivation.

Better being a relative term.

Esme tricked her husband into telling me. He was on the sofa, reading aloud from a recent letter from an acquaintance. She spotted me through the window and waited until after he reached the portion which divulged his location to exclaim in a whisper, "Leave off. Rosalie is coming." When I entered the house a few minutes later, Dr. Cullen's abashment was genuine, but Esme did not meet my eyes.

It was just as well. They were stinging with tears I couldn't cry.

Alaska.

Otherwise known as, "As far away from me as he could get without leaving the country."

On the surface, I was offended, angry he could put so much space between us. But beneath and through it all, I was riddled with guilt so deep I expected a scarlet G to appear above my breast.

From his departure and embarrassment to my wounds and loneliness, all of this was my fault. Truly he should not have been reading my mind at such a moment, but how can I blame him when his defenses were so beautifully lowered? There had been nothing between us but intense intentions, and my thoughts should have been entirely focused on him, on what he made me feel.

And feel I did.

Given how we ended, I should regret my wantonness, my shameless enjoyment of his kisses and sighs. I should hate Dr. Cullen for changing me and Mrs. Cullen for encouraging an ill-fated liaison between him and me.

But I do not.

I cannot.

If the last night of my human life proved me anything, it is this: I can survive pain, thrive in spite of it. I can become more than I was with less than I started with.

If I can just hold on.

The sun finally peeks from behind the clouds, a blinding wink at my resolve, and I am grateful.

—T—P—E—

I am picking flowers for Esme's table when I hear it.

An ear-piercing screech cutting into the silent serenity of the forest.

Though the sound comes from a great distance, the scream hits me in the chest as if originating within me. My eyes dart around, seeing nothing, but I am on my feet in an instant, praying for an encore that I might discover its location.

My sudden curiosity is rivaled only by impatience, but I have no time to wonder why as I hear it again.

This time, fainter than the first.

It comes from the southwest. On the far side of the mountain.

I run faster than I have since the night I awakened to this life.

The night I awakened to... then ran away from him.

"Stop running, you coward… and face me!"

He faced my insults and told me the truth.

And I punished him for it, as I did for everything else he ever did for me.

(No, Rose. Now is not the time.)

Leaping over a jagged cavern, the scent of human blood assaults and brings me to a halt. I close my eyes, fisting my hands at my sides, and count backwards from a very high number. I have yet to taste human blood, and I do not plan to start now.

I hold my breath and speed on as a third cry is cut off, replacing by a choking sound. With a start, I realize someone is drowning in their own blood.

And will die if I don't do something.

But I am no doctor and have no idea how to improve whatever situation I might find. Dr. Cullen is at work, and Esme's hugs and hospitality would hardly be balm enough.

And assuming the human survives until Dr. Cullen returns home, do I have the right to impose upon his expertise? To ask him to help a human who could repay his kindness with a threat of exposure?

The choking becomes a gargle, and my hastened flight decides.

I shall cross that bridge when I come to it.

Through the brush, around a large rock, and over a fallen tree, I see him.

And my dead heart leaps in my chest.

Blood everywhere.

Limbs lodged in unnatural positions.

Internal organs exposed.

But for all of that, for everything grotesque, there is something else.

Something more.

A face.

A sweet, boyish face.

A lovely, sweet, boyish face haloed by dark curly hair.

He is The Word made flesh.

I fall to my knees at his quivering side, heedless of the cost to my newest dress. My hand brushes blood and grime from his troubled forehead, and I am stunned when he seems to relax. His eyes flutter, meeting mine for the briefest of moments, and his lips curl into a smile.

Mine echo in response, and I lay a chastening finger upon their silent movements. "Save your strength."

My hand slips to the hollow beneath his jawline, praying for a miracle. His pulse is slow, too weak for human detection, and I sigh, cupping his clammy cheek. "Hold on, my angel. We must fly."

I lift him with careful ease, grateful for my strength, wishing I were softer. He tries to fasten his arms around my neck but fails, and they fall uselessly at my side. I hold him that much closer, brushing his forehead with my lips. "It is all right. I will not let you go."

And something in my soul cries out, "Amen."

—T—P—E—

"Carlisle!" I kick open the front door of the house without losing a step. "Come quickly!"

"What is going—" The words die on Esme's tongue as she rises from the couch. "Rosalie, what have you done?"

"Where is Carlisle? There is no time to waste!"

"He is on his way home." Esme approaches me with wary eyes. "It is his lunch hour, remember?"

I turn toward the front door. "Then we must meet him halfway down the mountain."

"Rosalie!" Esme's shout forces me to face her. "What have you done?"

My eyes narrow as I catch her meaning. "Look at me! Do I look like I've consumed human blood?"

"Yes! Your clothes, your face, your mouth… you are covered in it."

I look down, following her gaze, but all I see is the angel in my arms.

"Now... if you did this, we can figure it out," Esme continues. "We might have to move again, but that is of little consequence. But first you must tell me…"

"I did not attack him. I am trying to save him if you'd cease with all the questions!"

Her hands find her hips. "Then why is his blood on your lips?"

"That does not matter right now! We need to find Carlisle and…"

"What is going on in here?" Carlisle bursts through the door, his golden eyes aflame as they drop to the barely-breathing bundle in my arms. "Oh, Rosalie…"

"Can we stop assuming the worst and help him? There isn't much time!"

Carlisle studies my eyes. "Very well. We can take him to my…"

"Come." I speed to my bedroom, laying my precious cargo gently down with a brush of my lips against his forehead. Esme gasps, and I realize I have just kissed this stranger in front of them.

After only doing so with him for spite and sport.

Carlisle kneels by my bed, checking his injuries. "What can you tell me?"

"I was on the other side of the mountain when I heard him screaming. By the time I arrived, he was alone and in this state."

"His attacker?"

"Gone. But there were bear tracks in the mud, so I…" Labored breathing from the bed halts my explanation and pacing, and I drop to the doctor's side. "Please tell me you can save him."

He does not reply, and the ensuing silence rocks me to my core. "No."

"I'm sorry. Though transfusions would stem the blood loss, his internal injuries are too severe."

I shake my head, his words impossible. "I'm taking him to the hospital for a second opinion."

"There is no time." He comes to his feet, wiping his brow. "And the needless travel would exacerbate his pain, hasten the inevitable."

I wince at the last word, shaking it immediately off. "No."

"I am very sorry, Rosalie." He comes to his feet, laying a gentle hand on my head. "I sincerely wish there was something I could do."

His phrasing grabs my attention, and I look up with renewed hope. "There is."

"I do not understand."

"Don't you?"

He frowns as I come to my feet, but it is Esme who speaks. "Are you… are you asking Carlisle to make him one of us?"

Carlisle gapes at his bride before returning to my unblinking gaze. "A life for a life, Dr. Cullen."

He closes his eyes, shaking his head. "Rosalie, I cannot…"

"You cannot?" The man on my bed groans, and I soften my voice. "You changed me for Edward but cannot do this for me?"

It is the first time his name has been spoken aloud since the New Year, and we three feel the blow together. Carlisle's eyes widen, and I fight the stab of betrayal in my heart.

I shall answer for that later.

"How can you ask me this?" Carlisle's voice is barely audible. "As much as you hate this life, as much as you have suffered the past two years, how can you…"

"For all I've suffered these past four months, how can you deny me? Has my heartache been for nothing?" I sink to the bed, running my hands through my angel's hair, marveling that the contact calms me down.

"Carlisle, please." The rush of emotion makes my voice quiver, but I am too frantic to care. "He cannot die, and I... as your daughter, I am asking you to save him."

He is silent above me, my holy maker, and I hold my breath as he idles. Should he refuse, I cannot tell what I would do.

Only that it would not be pretty.

Finally he sighs. "Stand aside."

I leap to my feet and throw my arms around his neck, covering him with dirt and desperation. "Thank you. With all of my heart, thank you."

He pats my back, and I close my eyes in relief. A pair of furiously golden eyes accuses me behind my lids, and I blink them away, forcing my focus on the future.

A life for a life.

Well... you know what? I think I'm okay now. It's just… it's weird seeing them apart, and I'm still adjusting to the separation as much as they are. Much of their journey has surprised me, so I guess I shouldn't be surprised to be surprised, right?

How are you liking it? Are you still with me?

I don't think I'll see you before Christmas, so have a merry and safe one. And I'll see you in the New Year (whoo-hoo!) with more from Rosalie's POV. xoox