AN: I'm glad you seem to be reading and liking this story. Hopefully you'll enjoy this chapter – it's my favourite so far and it's not bad, if I do say so myself :)

The First Grey Awakening

BPOV

I impatiently set aside my book and leapt up from the settee, smoothing my skirt and laying the book down on the coffee table. Unable to keep still, I paced up and down the living room, gazing through the window to take in the characteristically wet weather outside, the rain hammering against the windowpanes and ricocheting off the sill onto the garden path.

Edward had been gone now for over two months and I knew from his occasional letter that he was drawing near to the end of his basic training. Any day now he would be setting off to fight on the front line, and although this thought was terrifying, part of me couldn't help but wish that I were there with him.

I was growing so bored of my life here, stuck in my duties as a daughter and young woman and unable to break free and explore whom I had the potential to be. I, too, longed for adventure and felt cooped up in this small town, like a bird with its wings clipped, kept from knowing what it would feel like to soar through the air.

Catching myself getting carried away, I stopped pacing and smiled ruefully; it was unlike me to become so melodramatic and just proved my suspicion that I needed a change of scene.

Slipping on my coat and hat as some defence against the elements and calling to my father that I was going for a walk, I set off down the wide residential street, barely aware of my feet carrying me along. I was so caught up in my thoughts that I failed to see the rogue tree root in front of me, and only managed to catch myself just before I hit the ground.

Muttering darkly to myself about clumsiness and roots jumping out at me, I started picking myself up and turned to see a small person standing behind me. Her face was concerned as she squinted at me through the heavy rain and held out her hand to help me, asking, "Are you alright, Bella?"

Realising that it was Alice, Edward's sister, I shook myself and accepted her proffered help, brushing down my coat that has now covered in wet leaves that had fallen from the trees before the constant rain turned them into a soggy mush.

"I'm fine, Alice, but thank you for your concern," I replied, smiling bashfully at her from under the brim of my hat. Although I had known Alice for several years, we had never been very close, and the two-year age gap between us did not help matters.

We began walking along together in companionable silence until she asked me, "Have you heard anything from Edward recently?"

I shook my head; the last letter I had received from him had been more than a fortnight ago when he had written to wish me a happy birthday. It had seemed a little distant and detached but not devoid of sincerity and I had been genuinely touched that he had remembered even from all those miles away. It still filled me with a warm glow to think about the folded letter in my dresser where I had stored it for safekeeping, rereading it often so that the folds in the paper weakened and collapsed.

"Me neither," she sighed, obviously disappointed, and I made a mental note to request that Edward send a letter just for Alice when he next wrote. "I wonder what he's doing right now?"

"Probably marching," I answered her; "they've quite a way to travel to get to the front line."

Alice's eyes lit up as she considered the possibilities.

"I think he's fighting," she declared and my heart leapt into my mouth with the idea. "I think he's winning the battle single-handedly so the war can end and all the soldiers can come home."

I smiled sadly at her prognosis and bit my lip; although I would never admit it to her, I had been missing Edward more than I would care to say. He had been a constant presence in my life up to this point, ever since we had played together as children while our mothers watched from his porch, and I felt bereft that he was so far away, in some place where I could not follow.

Alice turned to me suddenly, her lip quivering and her wide blue eyes filling with moisture. "I wish he would come home, Bella."

"So do I," I assured her, folding her in my arms to offer the only comfort I could give. I wished I could tell her that we would see him soon but I realised that it could be months until he was granted leave and I could not promise her something only to have her hopes dashed.

"Just think of when the war is over, Alice," I reminded her. "He'll be a hero."

She sniffed and dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief and then threw me a watery smile.

We walked on, battling against the teeming raindrops for a few minutes longer before she excused herself, saying that she had to get home, and we parted. I wandered slowly back towards my house, now barely noticing the torrent that fell around me and glanced off my hat and now soaked coat.

Letting myself in, I changed into dry clothes and sat down at the table with a fresh sheet of paper in front of me, and a pen in my hand. I chewed on the end nervously, then started to write, quickly filling the page with my cramped, slightly uneven script.

EPOV

My head bowed under the steady onslaught of drizzle that never seemed to cease its cascade from the billowing clouds above the trenches. There were times, after a session of heavy shelling, when the sky was obscured from us completely by columns of thick smoke, choking and scorching the lungs with its pungent fetor.

As I swallowed, I could almost taste the coating of ash that had settled in my mouth during the last bombing of our line of trenches, just before the Germans attacked. They charged towards us, a tidal wave of grey, mud-splattered uniforms that made every man look alike, and yet unavoidably separated them from us. The deafening noise of scores of machine guns ripped a hole in the silence of the dawn and we each took up our places, fixing our bayonets onto the barrels of our rifles in preparation. I prayed that no-one would get close enough for me to use it.

There was a rending sound as a man's head was blown from his body and I swallowed, nauseous even at the memory, forcing down the waves of panic that threatened to overtake me if I lingered too long on that recollection. The swarms of Germans kept coming, and we kept shooting them down, each falling where their comrades had fallen before them, brothers in death as well as in arms.

I now sat at the edge of the trench pertaining to no-man's land, keeping watch for my shift that would last most of the night. For the most part, we played a waiting game. At any moment, we could be besieged with shells or overrun by the Hun and none of us knew when that would be. It drove some men mad, the not knowing, but I had soon found that the best way to remain sane was to give in to the numbness.

To avoid thinking about the horror and destruction allowed my mind respite; that, and remembering my other life, the one I had lived before I had come here. I spent the nights remembering my family: my mother, in all her gentle kindness; my father's gruff handshake before the train left; my sister Alice's willing smile and happy temperament.

My thoughts turned to Bella a lot, too, and I missed her more than I would be prepared to admit. She had always been the one who made sense of things for me, and now I needed her practicality and understanding more than ever. Alone, I thought too much, and in the trenches there was nothing to do but think. I needed her to draw me out of my introspection and to make me feel like myself again.

Thinking of Bella reminded me of the prize that I cradled in my pocket, the letters that I had received from home earlier that day. I had stashed them away to save for this night, knowing that I could enjoy them in peace, and I carefully opened the envelope, savouring the feel of the paper on my fingers and the gentle fragrance of home that it brought.

The first letter was from my mother, prattling about a lunch she had hosted for her friends, and included with that was a quick note from Alice telling me about school and a party she was going to the next week. I was slightly disappointed that there was no word from my father, but this was assuaged instantly by the next letter which, I knew from the handwriting, was from Bella.

Her letters, without fail, diverted me in a way that no others did. Perhaps it was the fact that I knew that, were I back home, I would slot right into the things she did and recounted to me. She made me hope that I was still the same Edward she had known, or at least that I could be.

As I unfurled the paper, her scent wafted gently up and made me stop dead, instantly transported back to the meadow, or the garden, or any place where we had spent time together. For me, that fragrance meant home, and I realised that I could not find home without it. Inhaling deeply and savouring every breath, I began to read what she had written.

28th September 1917

Dear Edward,

I write to sincerely thank you for the much-appreciated birthday wishes you sent me by your last letter. It greatly moved me to be shown that your thoughts turned to me even when you are so far away and there is such a gap between us.

I realise that I may never be truly able to understand your experiences and adventures, but I hope that you will teach me what you can and that I may, in some small way, share in this war with you. Either way, I am much obliged that you did not forget my eighteenth birthday, even while you are away fighting a war.

If you doubted it once you cannot doubt it now – we are all immensely proud of you and your mother boasts of her boy, the soldier, to everyone she meets. Alice, too, misses you a lot. We have spent time together and it is clear that she is filled with admiration for her brave big brother. Who could help but to admire what you are doing?

For my part, my days have become much lonelier now that you are no longer in them. I know that we are all but grown up and would have parted ways soon enough anyway, but I cannot pretend that I do not miss having you around.

I am continuing with my studies, laboriously working at my French and history, as I gave up on mathematics weeks ago. It became impossible for me to master without you to help me, and I received little encouragement to continue from my father. He does not find it necessary for a young lady to have grasp on education; I try to tell him that times are changing, but he is set in his ways.

I am not ashamed to tell you, Edward, that I am worried about him. He becomes increasingly like an old man every day, although he is barely fifty years old, and I fear for his health if this continues. I hardly know how to take care of him – he seems so fragile and I am afraid that I am not making a comfortable home for him. I know he feels the loss of my mother, although she has been gone these six years, even stronger than I do and it seems that his health and well being are declining, as if he cannot bear many more years without respite from his grief. I pray he does not plan to join her soon or I shall be totally alone and the thought terrifies me.

Forgive me, I have no right to burden you with my worries but I needed to rely on a friendly ear and you have always been that for me, Edward. I hope that, even though many miles separate us, you will look to me for that same purpose and I will try not to let you down, although I am sure your troubles are far greater than mine.

Although I feel my pen could run on for many more pages, I must draw to a close now and remind you that our thoughts and prayers are with you, as ever.

Yours,

Bella

I closed up the letter and slipped it back into my pocket before mashing my head into my hands. Concentrating on taking deep breaths, I calmed my burst of emotion that consisted of loneliness and, to my surprise and chagrin, anger. What was she thinking, asking me to share my 'adventures' with her? Did she not realise the agony I experienced even imagining her knowing about what went on in these rat-infested ditches?

She could never know, I vowed, and God knows I could never tell her. I could never pollute her in that way, never claim that innocence that shone through the letter and touched me, even when I thought that I was losing my sanity. Just reading her heart-felt words made me miss her with a fearsome ache and I wished that I could be there to reassure her in her worries.

I knew, though she never spoke of it, that losing her mother when she was only twelve affected her deeply and that she had never fully recovered and would always carry that grief with her. It was hard knowing that your best friend was somehow incomplete, but it almost seemed that I completed her, filling in that missing piece so that together we made a whole person. That was what came, I supposed, of growing up with someone so that they were almost like an extension of your body, a limb that you cannot imagine functioning without. This was why, it seemed, I was having such a hard time adjusting to life without her with me.

The loneliness reared up again and I squashed it back, tearing my thoughts away from the person who made my heart ache and yet also made it feel whole. I stared out over no-man's land, scanning the horizon for any approach or sign that an attack was imminent, but there was none. Perhaps tonight was not the night, but soon it would happen and when it did we would have to be ready.

We could take no prisoners.

AN: I'd like to thank Cullenista, once again, for her help with this chapter, especially the title. It is inspired by a war poem by Alun Lewis called "All Day It Has Rained" (it was tipping down when I wrote this chapter) – check it out if you like powerful poetry. Incidentally, all the chapter titles so far have been names of war poems, a little theme I have going here.

RosieWilde x