Hmm. The plot inches forward. Edward is only a stink bomb because well… he can afford to be. God knows he's cute enough to get away with it.

Viva.

EPOV

"I really hate you right now, Carlisle." He just looks at me with tired golden eyes, like a dad expecting a tantrum from his child. At the moment, I don't care, because he is perhaps the only person I know who could give me what I want, but won't let me have it.

"You know you don't mean that." I cross my arms and sulk some more. I will get my way. Carlisle's study is the only place he ever truly looks at home, aside from the hospital; with its richly colored tapestries and shelves upon shelves of medical books, the aging bottle of wine he's saving for a special occassion, though I have no idea who he thinks will drink it. It's probably the first bottle of vino ever made. I know I'm making him uncomfortable right now, glaring holes in his belongings but hey, all he has to do is say the magic words and—

"Edward," he sighs. "only because you being stressed, on top of being pregnant with a werewolf's child would be even more hazardous to your health…" the rest of his sentence drones on in meaningless blather as that lovely wallet of his opens and oh my God I can even smell the money. He's peeling hundreds out obscenely fast and laying them on his desk.

"Only because you're my favorite." I glance up and find a small smile toying at the corners of his lips. That Carlisle is a funny guy.

-----------*

"Go away." Why is everyone so upset with me today? It's not like I ask for anything too unreasonable—only slightly so, I mean, it's me. Humanized and shit. I'm like Edward 3000 or something. Fucking awesome.

"Nah, I don't think I will."

"Seriously Ed, I think you should leave now." Wow. Seth has become such a doucher…

"Um… no."

"I'll call Bella."

"Ooh, now I'm really scared Seth—youre little wifey might yell at me for goodness sakes!" that was actually a pretty good comeback, I should tell Jacob—he lets me write down all the good ones I say since there are so few. Wait a second…

"Edward, I can't help you do this." Yadda yadda yadda.. translation: My name's Seth and I'm a giant sack of shit because I won't help my bff become a real boy!

"I don't want to go by myself, lame-o. that takes away from the whole point of this thing!"

"Well, can't you wait until you know, Jacob knows about this?"

"I don't need his permission for shit! Plus, I gotta get this done know while I'm not too super fat and disgusting to go out in public like I will be in about a week." Seth sighs. Hmm.. he sounds an awful lot like Carlisle. Maybe it's just that kind of day. Either way, I don't give a fuck; I got a buddy to go with me for my first tattoo!

------------*

"Seth, I'm scared," I say as we pull in from off Ink Palace, the only tattoo parlor within 30 miles of Forks. He ignores me and gets out of the car. I take a deep breath and follow him, pretending I don't notice all the bikers hanging out in the parking lot checking me out while I pretend to ignore the vile things they murmur. I've still got exceptional hearing.

"Whaddaya want?" A dark haired 20-something asks me. An amazingly lifelike emerald sepent winds down his forearm, fangs opening over a small emblem. Je suis Le Loup. My hands shake as I pull the folded square from my back pocket. I smooth it out on the counter. His eyes light up as he examines the interwoven simple designs.

"That's real art, man," he says. I nod, feeling myself brush and then follow him back to a fleet of equally intimidating black chairs. "Put your shirt over there." I peel it off, and fold it, placing it on We make small talk as he spreads antiseptic down my arms. I feel my feet go dead and numb as he readies his ink and needles.

"Ya ready, kid?" I nod. Seth is still in the front of the parlor, flipping through books of other people's ink. "Just don't jump, okay?" The needle touches my skin and seriously, I have no idea what I was bitchin about. It's like a splinter, well, not really, but it doesn't hurt like I thought it would.

"So tell me about yourself." God, I talk a lot, even in my own head. So my master inker talks. His name is Gregory, he's from a small town in Michigan, ran away when he was 15, joined the circus as a trick rider, got kicked out when he was caught having an affair with the lion tamer's daughter. Ended up in Olympia, then took to hitchiking, wound up here in Nowhere, Washington. And just like that, he's done, bandaging me up and telling me all I need to know about sunscreen and bandaids, sending me on my way.

"You look rather proud of yourself." Seth says once we're back in the car. He think he might want a little bell on his shoulderblade. For Bella. How sickeningly romantic.

"I guess I ratherly am."

---------------------*

"Won't he love me tonight?" I sing to myself even louder now, throwing out my arms as I spin like some lovesick schoolgirl. I've duct taped a few icepacks to my arm, Jake'll be upset that I used one of his Wolverine ones but hey, all my Spiderman ones got snatched by Quil last time he and Claire came over after school so it's only fair… man, I've really outdone myself this time, I got my first tattoo (well, series of tattoos would be more correct) drank my first beer, which was pretty disgusting and managed to wear socks that didn't match my shirt for the first time in… a long time, all in the same day!

Now I've just got to wait.

He'll be home in an hour.

Fuck. I'm already restless and it's been naught a hair past two minutes. Though my turn of the century conscience protests, my seventeen-year-old body wants what it wants and good lord the laptop I am so enthralled by can give it to me. A few clicks of the mouse and naked men are all over the screen. Sadly, I spend my time comparing them to Jacob.

That one's too fat.

Too skinny.

Too old.

What the hell? Is that Jared?

Too creepy-looking.

Not Jacob-y enough.

Seriously, is that Jared?

I can hear him pulling in the driveway so I shut the thing down and shove it under the sofa. He's got light footsteps for such a huge man, creaking th efront door open and leaping over the couch like some yearling. He nuzzles his face in my neck, his breath tickles.

"I missed you," I murmur as we just lay there on the sofa, unmoving, though comfortably so. He says the same thing and suddenly tenses.

"You smell different."

"I hear that a lot."

"No, seriously, Ed. You smell like old blood—we need to call Carlisle," his face is frantic and he's dialing the number but I snatch the phone from his hand.

"It was s'posed to be a surprise." I Take off my shirt gingerly, it's starting to hurt a bit more. The duct tape rips hair from my arms. I'm starting to think Seth told me about his 'trick' as some form of revenge. However, I grin and bear it, winding gauze from my entire arm. Three black bands of different widths encircle my forearm, towards the elbow. My upper arm displays two symbols, an old one of bravery as well as one of triumph. The inside of my upper arm, which is apparently tender flesh, is inscribed with a simple phrase.

I belong to Jacob Black.

I watch his face as he examines them, the scabs still sore and disgusting. He weeps a bit, muttering that he'll kill whoever gave me money to get this done, as well as whoever drove me to the seedy old place—then he smiles, tracing them with his eyes and I know that he loves my marks, as much as I love them.

"You know that they're spectacular, don't you?"

"Yes," I sigh as he presses butterfly kisses to my lips.

"Truly, they are," he whispers again, pulling me on top of him, careful not to jar my arm. I press the icepacks back onto the pale flesh. I listen to his heartbeat, he asks me if we could name the baby Natalie if she's a girl. That was my cousin's name, I tell him—she was amazing, an artist when it came to pastry. We don't speak of having a son. It's not that we don't want a boy, because believe me, we do… it just seems that much more hallowed and sacred by not talking about it.

I guess I fall asleep, since I wake up in our bed, my arm rewrapped, freshly frozen icepack secured with saran wrap (that man is a genius) and a glass of cold water on the bedside table. I smile against the sheets and reach out, but a stabbing pain inside me cracks something and the world is fuzzy and dark.