I do not own Twilight or Carlisle. All hail Stephenie Meyer.

I apologize for the late update--I had a busy schedule and Jury Duty all this week. Hopefully its length makes up for the wait.

Unending gratitude goes to my beta, locqua. Send her endless amounts of fan mail, for without her, this chapter wouldn't be here. Seriously. Thank you, locqua!

Now, without further ado or eloquence, on with the tale...

Edward's screams had continued for over six hours, only ending when his voice could no longer handle the stress. Had I not been five miles from the nearest house, someone would have undoubtedly been there within minutes. Yet even as his voice could no longer resonate, his agonized, whispered pleas for death were unimpeded. All I could do was hold his hand and stroke his hair, begging his forgiveness and promising that it would be but a memory, soon enough.

I could smell the venom pumping through Edward's bloodstream; ironically, it had already obliterated the virus that had been threatening his life. His body writhed almost uncontrollably, his immune system fighting valiantly, albeit in vain, against the unfamiliar toxin. I could sense the changes beginning to take place in his musculature and skeleton, the cells and muscle fibers being destroyed and restructured at an alarming rate.

There was nothing I could do to ease Edward's suffering, yet I never left his side. Through the minutes and hours, I talked to him and prayed over him, telling him everything, starting with who—and what—I was. I began with the story of how it all happened: how his mother begged me to save him, in the way that only I could; he would become a vampire, and would eternally thirst for human blood. But I would teach him to live as I did, drinking only the blood of animals and learning to deny his baser instincts, embracing what was left of his humanity. He would always have me to turn to, for whatever he needed.

I pulled my gaze away from him for the first time that day to the window, training my eyes on the woods beyond the mocking reflection in the glass panes. The fading light gave an ethereal glow to the scenery around my home, and for a brief moment, the silence seemed hallowed. I was not certain how much of my discourse Edward had heard, and I suddenly felt ashamed of my selfish actions, unable to look at him any longer. But then came a whisper I almost thought I had imagined.

"No," Edward managed to rasp out. He lapsed into complete silence, then, the last of his strength failing as the venom took control, leaving him paralyzed.

Twenty-four hours later, Edward's utterance was still haunting me. He seemed to have inherited his mother's ability to be maddeningly ambiguous. I had stared at him, deep in thought, for the entire day following, occasionally brought from the recesses of my mind to watch with fascination at the gradual amendment of his physiology. His body had succumbed to the will of the venom, the whole of his being still but for the steady thrum of his pulse and the occasional tremors that gave evidence to his silent torture. However, my thoughts were still with his last word.

No, he had said. What could he possibly have meant?

Perhaps it was Edward's general reaction to my detail of what his reality was going to be like as a vampire. Maybe I had been right—he hated me for having created him, and was rejecting my philosophy. Or was it just another desperate plea for me to end his life? Possibly, he was afraid that he would kill another human, and was resolved to fight his newfound instinct as I had. Whatever his decision, I would never turn my back on him; even if he hated me, though it would torture me for the rest of my existence—

I would give everything I had to see him happy.

This new realization shook me to the core, bringing with it a new significance to my earlier covenant to Elizabeth. Did my promise to her extend beyond Edward's mortal life? Would I find myself fighting to save him—from himself—in the days and decades to come, into eternity? If he did regret my decision, would I be failing in my word?

I closed my eyes, Elizabeth's pleading, disquieted form appearing in the darkness again. This renewed sense of purpose to her command demanded that I renew my vow.

I will do everything in my power, Elizabeth.

Her troubled demeanor melted in relief. The vision faded, and I knew I would not see her again. She was finally at peace.

It was so strange to feel such a deep connection to Edward. Perhaps it was the fact that I had bitten him, and his own scent carried with it a small bit of mine. It was in the same way a family of humans all had a unifying scent to them; the way Edward's scent hinted of Elizabeth's, the way a child was forever a part of his parents. I had always wondered if the scent went beyond mere physiology; humans could not, at least consciously, smell it as a vampire could, so its purpose was clearly not for them to be able to detect family ties. Subconscious bonding was always a possibility, but I could tell that this particular trait went beyond providing for survival.

A new insight emerged, instantly: it was from love—the sort of love that surpasses life itself; the self-sacrificing kind that could defy death to ensure the proper conclusion to its course. This love was the connection I had felt with Elizabeth and Edward initially—I had mistaken the manifest emotion for compassion. It was what had compelled Elizabeth to lay her own life on the line, nursing her son in his illness, and, consequently, to beg me to save him.

Inexplicably, the pull Edward had on me did not seem so chanced, but rather fated. The love I had for him was not entirely my own.

I suddenly felt the rings Elizabeth had given me in my pocket, feeling far heavier than their small size would indicate.

I had inherited part of this love.

It was almost as if, in giving me her rings, Elizabeth had entrusted me with her love for her son. And somehow, this love had evolved and grown, mingling with my own until the two halves became a single entity, boundless and endless.

I could see it clearly now. The dawn of the third day was fast approaching, and Edward began to voice his agony once more. It couldn't be much longer, now, and, from my recollection, this would be the hardest time for him. I remembered, dimly, the final hours before my heart beat its last—how all my senses seemed to have awoken for the first time, both breaking through the pain and allowing me to experience it to its fullest. With each of Edward's cries, I heard within them the echoed expression of my own long-forgotten agony.

If his transformation was similar to mine, he would likely be able to hear me, now. I explained everything again and promised the pain would end soon, but there was no way to ensure he had heard. His hand was still secure within mine, and I hoped and prayed for some slight twitch of a finger to indicate he had heard me.

Nothing.

The soft ticking of the clock in my study suddenly assaulted my ears, every second sounding like the strokes of a deadly scythe, each successive swing of the pendulum shortening Edward's tenuous grip on life as the hours passed. I wept tearlessly with him in those final hours, knowing that the pain had increased to an unbearable level. His heart beat furiously in its final stand against death, and Edward wrenched his hand from mine, clutching his shirt above his heart, ripping it in the process. I pried his hand from the shredded fabric, holding him still on the bed as he gasped and writhed.

And then, all was still.

Edward's hand tightened painfully around mine, and I placed my other hand on top of it, rubbing back and forth soothingly. His whole body tensed, and I quickly scanned the rest of his limbs. The pain should be fading quickly. Was he still feeling the burn of the venom?

"No." I was startled by the pleasant timbre with which he spoke the word. What a voice! But my mind was confused by his statement—had I spoken my question aloud?

My focus shifted to his face, and I started. His eyes were open, and his expression was as surprised as my own. It looked like he was seeing a complete stranger.

"Edward," I began, looking deep into his crimson eyes, "do you remember me—Dr. Cullen?"

His eyes widened further; then, he was across the room in a blinding flash, trembling as he crouched defensively by the wall. I stood slowly, keeping my head and shoulders submissively down in a non-threatening posture. He was clearly afraid of me, and I needed to calm him down before he attacked.

Edward shook his head furiously. "No!"

He straightened a bit, then, but his trembling continued. I could feel my forehead furrow in a physical manifestation of my bewilderment, and I took a step toward him unconsciously. Reacting to my movement, he jumped back quickly, hitting the wall, which gave with a sharp crack. The sound surprised him, and he whipped around to face the perceived threat. Edward didn't know his newborn strength, and he was incredibly fast, even for a vampire. I was astounded.

His eyes darted around to take in his surroundings, and I realized, for the first time, that he must have assumed that he was still in the hospital. Edward turned to face me again, his expression mirroring mine—a mixture of confusion and complete amazement. But instead of conveying a wondering tone, his voice snapped at me.

"How are you doing that?"

I froze instantly. What had I been doing? I did a quick inventory of my actions, but as far as I could tell, Edward was the only one who was doing anything.

"That," he seethed, pointing an accusing finger at me. "I can hear what you are saying, but your lips never move. Have you been speaking to me—like that—while I was…" He broke off, unable to continue.

Something in Edward's tone reminded me instantly of Aro; a very specific inflection that he would use when responding to something you had thought—

The pieces fell into place instantly, and I could feel the comprehension smooth my concerned expression. Though the phenomenon of inherent "giftedness" was frequent in vampires, it remained a complete mystery to the Volturi; it was thought to develop from the transformation process, though they had no idea why some, such as I, had no apparent ability at all. I had my theories, but had never been eyewitness to the birth of a newborn before. I thought without hope or agenda, watching carefully in complete fascination.

You can hear me, Edward?

He jumped back again, careful not to hit the wall this time, and his trembling started with renewed fervor. I was acutely aware of the rings again, and I felt Elizabeth's love—or, perhaps, mine—cry out at his distress. I realized I had not yet told him about his mother, and my regret that I could not save her reprised itself.

Edward's gaze moved slowly to his parents' rings, still concealed in my right pocket. I hadn't intended for him to find out this way. Grief tore through his expression before he shut his eyes quickly, attempting to rein in the emotion. He nodded slowly before falling to his knees, the force splintering the floorboards. I really would need to explain his new strength to him.

"No, apparently you won't," Edward choked out bitterly. It was then that I realized—he wasn't trembling—he was crying. His right hand was fisted at his mouth, his left clutching where his heart had, until recently, been beating so strongly. Edward sobbed as he sucked in a breath, his shoulders hunched over, head tucked tightly against his chest.

There were so many questions I wanted to ask him, but the nagging curiosity was smothered by an overwhelming need to comfort the young man. I moved slowly, one foot at a time, thinking clearly about each movement—if Edward could hear my thoughts, then my actions would not come as a surprise. When I was finally by his side, I knelt beside him, placing one hand on his shoulder.

Edward's head snapped up, his crimson eyes now level with mine. His expression held so many emotions that it was unreadable, and I thought, for a brief moment, that he might want to kill me. This existence had been forced upon him, and I could not blame him if he sought to avenge the unjust act. If that was what would make him happy, I would have gladly given him my life.

Suddenly, Edward's body tensed, and he launched himself at me. He threw his arms underneath mine, wrapping them tightly around me. His head collided hard with my chest, the momentum throwing us across the floor, my back hitting the bed frame and breaking it.

Despite the violent strength behind the action, I intuitively knew that this was no assault.

Instinctively, I wrapped my arms around Edward, his body convulsing uncontrollably as he tearlessly wept—for the loss of his parents, his world, his opportunities, and his life.

I'll be here for you, Edward. You'll never want for anything if I can help it. His arms tightened around me, and I impulsively tensed from the pain. Instantly, his grip loosened.

"I'm sorry," he stuttered, trying desperately, though unsuccessfully, to compose himself. He continued to embrace me, though more gently than before, allowing the powerful sobs that wracked his body to run their full course. His weeping gradually slowed, then faltered, before finally retreating altogether. My mind was quieted, unable to form thoughts in reverence of the moment. After several minutes, he spoke again, his voice still clear and strong. "I'm sorry, Dr. Cullen."

"I think, under the circumstances, you can call me Carlisle, Edward," I said as he slowly sat up, moving to sit beside me once his composure had returned. We both gazed out the window into the darkened forest in silence. I heard the clock chime the ninth hour—had two hours really passed since his awakening?

"Carlisle," he began, struggling to voice the words as I looked over at him. Without turning his head, his black eyes nervously scanned the room before finding mine, and I immediately knew what he was struggling to ask. The burn in his throat must be next to intolerable.

Ah, you are thirsty. It wasn't a question—Edward nodded his concurrence. I stood, silently instructing Edward to follow me out the back door.

He stayed close, running silently with me through the woods, listening to my thoughts as I replayed my own memories of my transformation and hunting experiences—a visual demonstration might help him know what to expect. Of course, my first kill had been a bit different than most, and I knew I could not expect Edward to be as averse to killing a human as I had been. We were eight miles from the nearest town; no human would come to this area in the middle of the night. Regardless, I knew I would have to be careful to keep Edward as far from humans as possible, at least until his eyes lost their red color.

We were in luck—there was a herd of deer about a half-mile to the south. Edward stilled as soon as he caught the smell, and was gone in an instant. He really is faster than any vampire I've ever seen. Shock and fear gripped me, and I charged after him as fast as I could, realizing how dangerous this could, potentially, be. If Edward were to catch the scent of a human, they would be dead before I could reach him. When I finally caught up to him, he had already killed two deer. I sprang quickly as they scattered, grabbing a buck and draining him as Edward paused to observe me in intense concentration.

Suddenly, the breeze brought a new scent with it—a black bear. Edward's head whipped in the direction of the animal, and he was off again, leaves and dirt still floating to the ground long after his feet kicked them aloft. I, again, ran after him quickly, arriving as the scene was ending. Edward's shirt, which had already sustained substantial damage from his own hand in his final moments of life, was now beyond any hope of repair, and lay in shreds on the forest floor. The kill played like a reenactment of my shared memories, the experience serving him well. The bear clawed fruitlessly at his head, and with one snap of the beast's neck, the hunt was over.

It was very quiet, then. After Edward had finished, he stayed crouched over the animal, almost remorseful, deep in thought. Leaning against a nearby tree, I listened to the sounds of the woods, keeping alert for any sound or smell of a human coming too near. The darkness of our surroundings reminded me of the end of the first day, when Edward had told me "no." And again, upon his awakening—what had he meant?

Edward sat and leaned back against the carcass of the black bear. He did not look at me as he spoke, "I was responding to what you were thinking—or maybe you said it aloud, I'm not sure." His gaze remained on the ground as my thoughts raced back to find what he was referencing. I came up blank, and opened my mouth to ask him to continue, but he quickly answered my unspoken question. His voice was quiet, slightly bitter.

"You were ashamed of what you had done in changing me—you blamed yourself, thought yourself selfish; you wondered if you had done the wrong thing. Perhaps you didn't actually say it in as many words, but that's what you were thinking. You're wrong about that—you made a promise to my mother, and however…unusual the method, you kept it." Though his expression was sincere, he spoke the words mordantly.

"My mother was convinced that she knew what was best for me, and I must admit that she was right, most of the time. She even tried convincing me not to fight in the war."

Edward's face fell again, and the night descended into a serene silence. It seemed that he needed a moment to gather his thoughts, and I felt it would be inappropriate to interrupt him with the throng of questions at the forefront of my mind.

He stated that he didn't think I had done the wrong thing, but how did he truly feel about it? I was certain he could find a path in this life that would exceed any expectation he could have had as a human—I had searched for over two centuries before I found my true calling, and I could not imagine a better existence. The ability of my mind to analyze and comprehend, combined with the heightened senses and physical advantages, made me more effective than I could have ever hoped to be as a human.

But I remembered, all too well, the doubt that had clouded my mind as a newborn, the hopelessness and self-loathing that composed my very being. Did he feel the same as I had?

"I'm not sure I can say 'thank you,' Carlisle, if that's what you're after," Edward's smooth voice drifted to my ears, startling me from my musings. His eyes met mine, and I half expected them to be the same green color as when he was human. I'd had no idea what to expect of him after the transformation—how much of him would change. But he was still so entirely human. His eyes narrowed at my thought, and then he looked away, sighing in obvious perplexity. It was amazing how many of his human habits he had retained.

"I'm not looking for gratitude, Edward," I responded, "I'm concerned for you. I cannot read your thoughts, so it is imperative that you be entirely transparent with me. You've seen how vivid my memories are of my own transformation, and I want to help you in the transition as much as I can." He didn't respond, and I looked away, knowing what needed to be said.

"I was only twenty-three when I was changed, and I never had the chance to have a family of my own, or become a father. But just because I am not afforded the option doesn't mean it hasn't been a deep desire of mine. I haven't always had the desire for a family; mainly, I just longed for companionship of some kind—the idea of family didn't happen until I met you and your mother. I won't question what force it was that brought you into my path, Edward, but whatever it was, it seemed to know exactly what I had always wanted in a son."

I paused to let my words sink in. If Edward doubted the sincerity of my words, all he had to do was search my mind—he would find the truth there; that I already loved him as a son, regardless of how he saw me. He truly was everything I had yearned for. "I realize it may be too soon for you to accept me, particularly in that role, but know this: I will be whatever you need—at this moment, and through eternity."

He nodded his head in understanding, not looking at me, his face holding a look of one beyond their years. He was silent for an immeasurable amount of time, his focus far beyond the trees and hills that surrounded us. Finally, he shook his head, seemingly in resolution, then looked at me.

"I…I don't know what to say, Carlisle; I honestly don't know what I need anymore. I hear the explanations in your head describe every sensation, every new instinct that floods my body. My body—is it even really mine, anymore? I feel more physically…alive," he winced, "than I ever did when I was...human. Yet I'm undeniably a monster; one expected to feed off the blood of my own kind…" he choked on the last three words, his hands instantly kneading at his forehead in frustration. "But you tell me I can't—I shouldn't. How do I do it? How do I quench this fire in my throat?"

I resisted the urge to embrace him; to hold and comfort him like the child I so desperately wished him to be. But Edward did not need the burden of my selfish dreams right now, and I quickly buried them in waves of calming, reassuring thoughts. If they had slipped through, he did not mention them.

"You tell me we can live off of animals, like the deer and bear; but they're not enough. I have this…craving…for more, for something else. It burns, Carlisle—so much that I can barely think of anything else. It's what my body needs, isn't it? It's so powerful…" His voice dropped to a whisper.

"I'm scared, Carlisle. You won't be able to stop me if I try to kill a human. Will you."

He didn't state it as a question—he already knew the answer from my thoughts, but I still shook my head in resignation. This ability of his was going to be both incredibly convenient and exceptionally annoying.

Edward chuckled, but the sound was completely devoid of any humor; it was bitter and forced. However, it was not entirely in response to my own thoughts.

"How ironic. I was so sure I was destined to become a soldier, who would be forced, at some point, to kill other men—possibly women and children. And I was more than ready to accept that fate. Yet, here I sit, my path on this earth the same: a mercenary of death to mankind…and yet, I can't fathom living that way, at all."

Pausing, his jaw was now taut with emotion, his eyes reflecting the first rays of the morning as his face began to shimmer in areas. It was a stern reminder that we needed to return home before daybreak, and then prepare to leave that night.

"Where are we going?" Edward's tone was sharp, clearly unsettled by my latest train of thought.

"We have to leave Chicago, Edward; the city is too highly populated and you may be recognized." That aside, the sudden appearance of a dependent I never had before would raise a few too many questions. My professional tone had returned. "We should move north, perhaps to Minnesota or Wisconsin. The weather is more suitable for our kind, anyway—the fewer sunny days, the better."

Edward's head shifted to the side in a silent question, and I stepped into an errant sunbeam to illustrate. He blinked, his eyes widening in surprise. The expression reminded me of a young boy I had examined, once—he had just seen a rainbow for the first time. I held back a smile, giving him a slight nod in affirmation before walking toward home, turning to make sure he followed.

Edward was standing beside the bear now, staring blankly at the corpse. It must be a lot for him to process; but with his newer, more agile mind, I doubted it would take him very long.

He shook his head again, but this time it was different—less…distressed. Edward peered over at me, an acquiescent look on his face.

"It's all just so strange. My body is telling me one thing, my mind another; and then, there's your mind, competing with everything else. I feel torn, confused—not myself, yet more myself than I have ever been. Does that make any sense?"

I nodded, recalling the memories of how I was, long ago—dazed, confused, and terrified; experiencing, feeling, and thinking almost the exact words he had just spoken. We were not so very different. Edward's lips broke into a bizarrely crooked grin—it somehow fit perfectly into his symmetrical features.

"Thank you, Carlisle," he began, sincerely. "It helps to know I'm not alone. I don't know how you did it without someone there to guide you…"

I couldn't help the exultant smile that crept onto my face. It wasn't anything definite, but it was a beginning, and that was all I could ever ask of him.

He'll stay with me, at least for now.

I turned my back on the rising sun, hearing Edward fall into step behind me.

"And, Carlisle?" He paused, waiting for me to respond.

I stopped and turned, choosing to answer his question wordlessly. Yes, Edward?

His mouth turned upwards at the corners slightly, the tiniest allusion of a true smile. The glow of the sunrise surrounded him in a soft halo, emphasizing the sincerity written across his angelic features. He looked me squarely in the eye before continuing.

"Thank you for being there—for helping us at the hospital; for trying to save her...us."

I could only nod in reply as we continued our journey home side-by-side, phantom tears welling up in my eyes. He and his mother had forever changed my heart; they had left their mark permanently, and I would never again be content alone. He really had no idea what he meant to me.

No, Edward—thank you.

This is the end of the beginning. I have more in the works; Esme is up next.

Never fear, Edward fans—he's almost as integral as Carlisle is to this story, now.