Note: I do not own or have rights to Twilight or its characters!!!
Chapter 9
Thorns and Roses
Every rose has its thorns
Just like every night has its dawn
Just like every cowboy sings his sad, sad song
Every rose has its thorns
Every Rose Has its Thorns
Poison
When Ben woke me, I was surprised to find myself in my own bed. The memories of the emotion filled previous night filled my mind. I remembered falling asleep nestled between my parents on their huge king sized bed. Papa must have brought me back down here sometime in the night. I'd never felt more wholly loved by my parents, my natural ones or my adoptive ones, than I had resting securely between Mama and Papa.
With those warm fuzzy thoughts still playing through my head, I rolled over and snuggled in as close to Benjamin as the blanket separating us would allow. I nuzzled his chest affectionately, enjoying the strong reassuring presence of him holding me close. I heard my mate laugh softly before he kissed my forehead.
"You know the rules, Milady," he rebuked me gently, but he continued to hold me.
"Rules, rules, rules . . . I remember the way you used to greet me in the early morning," I said as I took a languid stretch and then cuddled back into him. "Why can't you greet your mate like that anymore?" I asked, and then I added sadly, "I miss it terribly."
"Because, my all too tempting Wife," he kissed the end of my nose and it was nearly my undoing as rivulets of desire shot through me. "I find, after five hundred years, that I rather like having my head set firmly upon my shoulders."
I sighed as fond and strangely arousing memories of past romantic interludes danced through my mind. "Ben, there's got to be a way for us to be . . .uhm, well, a . . . a normal married couple again."
"If it's any consolation to you, my sweetling, I miss our more intimate encounters just as much as you do." His voice was deep and husky and I heard possessiveness echo in every word. The sound sent a shiver of desire up my spine.
We were silent for a time, simply enjoying the close contact that the act of cuddling offered us. Finally I felt Ben's body shift as he began untangling us so that we might face the coming day. Suddenly a wave of deep sadness washed through me and whined in protest. Instantly he kissed me and to my surprise, for the first time since that faithful night in the grotto . . . his mouth was in possession of mine. It was very brief, but even so, I could feel every ounce of his longing and desire telegraph from his lips to mine. I must have looked more startled than I intended to because I heard him chuckle as he helped me up from the bed.
"I promise I'll do a better job of that later when we're not so rushed." He told me as he led me towards the bathroom for my morning shower. "In the mean time, Esme likely has breakfast ready for you and Bart . . . and I thought I heard Carlisle say something about Abigail joining us this morning."
I heard him turn on the shower for me and set the water temperature. Even though I was capable of running my own shower, Ben had done it for me every morning since I became human again. I understood, of course, it was part of his way of 'taking care' of me. "Do you think you can manage from here?" he asked and I heard him lay out a towel for me on top of the counter by the sink.
"If I said no, would you join me and give me a bath?" I asked playfully.
"My sweetling is a temptress who does not comprehend the awesome power of her own allure," he replied with a laugh. "Alas, no, . . . if Milady requires more aid, I shall be forced to call for Alice, as I doubt very seriously that I could maintain even the slights sibilance of control at the sight of my beloved unclothed."
"I can manage," I sighed in defeat.
"I thought as much," he replied with a chuckle. "I'll put some clothes out for you on the bed. When you're dressed, come down to the kitchen."
Twenty minutes later I was entering the kitchen. Ben was instantly at my side, one hand on my elbow the other wrapped protectively around me as he led me towards the table. I wasn't sure who was more protective of me, my parents or Ben. As he settled me into my seat, I listened to the sounds around me. The familiar crinkle of Papa's news paper came to my ears first, even as the scent of ink and newsprint filled my nose.
"Good morning Papa," I greeted warmly.
"Good morning Kitten," he replied just as warmly. "Are you feeling any better this morning?"
"Yes, thank you," it was an honest answer. I still felt somewhat guilty about my mother's injuries, but nothing like the paralyzing, all consuming, grief of night before. I listened as my mother crossed the kitchen and set my breakfast plate before me.
"Good morning Mama."I greeted her and then added. "Are you ok? You shouldn't have gone to the trouble of cooking in your condition."
Her rich soothing laughter filled the kitchen and enveloped me in a loving blanket of sound. She bent down and kissed the crown of my head. "I'm fine Kitten, thanks to your father. And as far as cooking for you goes . . . well, it's going to take far more than a couple of detached limbs to keep me out of the kitchen."
I heard footsteps racing down the stairs and then, moments later, my son lumbered into the kitchen and plopped into his seat on the opposite side of Ben. "Good morning everyone," he muttered breathlessly.
"When is Abby due to arrive?" Papa asked casually.
"Oh, I just called her," Bart replied, "She's already on her way and should be here any minuet."
No sooner than he finished his words than the sound of a motorcycle roaring into the yard filled my hearing. I had a hard time thinking of sweet polite Abigail as a biker chic, but it was even harder to deny her love affair with two wheeled motorized transportation. It was a passion that Bart also shared and he'd made it known that he didn't want a car for his high school graduation present, he wanted a bike.
"Don't you think you ought to meet the young lady at the door, son." Benjamin suggested gently as he cleared his throat, "After all, it would be the courteous thing for a young Knight to do."
"Oh yeah, right Dad," Bart stammered as he leapt from the table and bolted for the door.
Both Papa and Ben chuckled in response. Bart spent the past seven years of his childhood training in the ways of Knighthood and on his last birthday he had taken his vows. Chivalry was most certainly not dead, as gentlemanly behavior was the rule of the day in both the Cullen and the de Monte Virun families.
I heard the door open and close and then there was a hushed conversation that I respectfully didn't try to listen in to, followed by footsteps coming toward the kitchen. I knew precisely when Abby and Bart entered the room as both Ben and Papa stood to their feet.
"You know, you really don't have to do that," Abby informed them with a bit of a smirk in her voice, "In fact, all this fancy etiquette that you guys practices . . . it kind of creeps me out. I'm always afraid I won't quite measure up, you know?"
"Nonsense, you are a young lady, my dear, and you should be treated as such." Ben said as he resumed his seat. "And as for my son, if he should ever treat you as anything less, you let me know and I shall introduce him to the broad side of my sword."
I couldn't help but giggle, not once in seven years had Ben ever physically disciplined Bart. I couldn't imagine him doing it now, though Bart once told me he would have preferred it to his father's lengthy lectures. A smile curled the corners of my mouth; Ben's lectures paled in comparison to Papa's, my father could practically bring a body to repentant tears without saying an unkind word or raising his voice above a whisper.
"Is the young lady hungry?" my mother asked from the direction of the kitchen. "I've made more than enough."
"Yes please, Grandma Esme." Abby replied sweetly. Ever since she learned to talk Abigail had called my parents, Grandma Esme and Grandpa Carlisle. Everyone said that this was because Bart called them so.
Soon we were all served and enjoying our meals in relative peace until Bart broke the silence. "So, about yesterday . . . you guys really are, you know, vampires?"
"That is correct." Papa answered absently as he turned the page of his paper. The breeze stirred by the motion brought a fresh wave of newsprint scent to my nose.
"And you guys really drink . . . you know . . . blood?" a hint of confusion tented his voice and made me suddenly worry. My fork stopped half way of its journey to my mouth. Ben squeezed my thigh gently to reassure me and I finished taking the bit. I knew that Papa and Ben as well as my brothers and Jacob were supposed to tell Bart the truth yesterday and I had been worried sick about how he would take things.
"Also correct," Papa replied calmly, "But unlike the vast majority of our kind, this family lives off the blood of animals, like deer and elk, not the blood of humans."
"It's the only reason that the Pack tolerates the bloodsuc . . ." Abby paused to correct herself. "Sorry Grandpa, I mean why the Cullens and your folks are allowed to exist peacefully in the area."
"Wait a minute," Bart sounded hurt now as well as confused. "You knew about this Abs, why didn't you tell me?"
There was a rather pregnant pause and the air in the room became uncomfortably thick as we waited for Abby's response.
"Yes, I knew . . . but I've only known since my first phasing a couple of years ago," She explained. I heard Bart snort in disgust, undaunted by this Abby continued her explanation. "I was . . . commanded by my Alpha not to tell you anything about your family. Jacob said that Grandpa Carlisle would tell you when it was time. You have no idea how hard it was keeping such a big secret from you . . . it felt dirty, like a lie."
"Your Alpha commanded you," Bart sneered hotly and I could hear the hurt in his voice. "What's that supposed to mean Abs, is that like when Daddy Jacob says jump and you ask how high? I'm sorry, and no offense to you personally Dad, but if my old man told me to keep some awful secret from you Abby . . . one that affected you directly I'm not sure I could obey."
"That's because you have a choice in the matter," my father inserted calmly. "Abigail has no choice but to obey when given a direct command by her Alpha. The mere thought of disobedience would be enough to cause her a great deal of physical as well as emotional pain."
"So you mean, even after we're married, your Dad and the Pack are going to be the third wheel in our lives?" Bart inquired his voice tight with hurt and anger. "You'll keep secrets from me if he commands it of you, while poor dumb Bartman plods along none the wiser . . . does that about sum things up?"
"It's not like that Bart." Abby answered softly. I could read oceans of heartbreak in her voice and I wanted nothing more that to go to her and wrap her in my embrace. It seemed that in spite of not sharing any biological connection Bart and Ben were more alike than different . . . like father like son and unfortunately, they shared the same exquisite rage.
"The hell you say." I heard the chair legs scrap against the floor as Bart stood up, and then he marched wordlessly toward the front door.
I listened as he slammed the front door behind him, but then my hearing was suddenly redirected to the sound of soft sobbing. Abby was crying and it broke my heart. I loved Abs as if she were my own daughter . . . in a way it mirrored how Mama felt about me and the rest of her children. I struggled to get up but Ben restrained me, I was furious at first but then I realized why; Mama was already offering her the physical comfort I had intended to give. Knowing my need to help her, even in a small way, Ben discreetly guided my hand to grasp Abby's and I clutched it tightly in mine.
"It's all right child," Papa soothed in a voice all too familiar to me. "He'll cool off soon enough and be back before you know it."
"I didn't mean to hurt him," she sobbed and my heart nearly split in two. How could my son be so insensitive?
Before I could say anything Benjamin spoke in a soft hushed tone, "But he that dare not grasp the thorns. Should never crave the rose." He paused briefly to allow his words to sink in; I found the quote from Anne Bronte as profound and sympathetic as it was purely romantic. "Though Sarah and I have been together for only a brief heartbeat of time, I can tell you from experience, my child, that this quote is ever true. Love, in the best and headiest of times, is intoxicating ambrosia, the cup of Baucus overflowing with delight from which lovers drink their giddy fill. In the worst of times it is a heart wrenching and agonizing journey through the bleakest emotional wastelands imaginable.
"And yet, given all this, it is a thing that I cherish even more than my own existence and crave more desperately than blood. I count myself a most blessed man indeed for having found Sarah and being fortunate enough to have her constant presences in my life, but we have not had an easy time of things.
"Struggle, Abigail, is the norm in matters of love and not the exception. Nothing worth having is easily obtained and nothing worth keeping is held without a fight. If you crave the rose, my dearest, you must endure the painful prick of the thorns in order to have and hold it."
I wanted to cry. I had often been privileged to have him comfort me in this way, but there was just something about the tender way Ben ministered to our heartbroken little Abby that made me melt inside. It took my insufferably slow human mind a moment to decipher why; his word had a double meaning. The quote from Bronte reflected the truth about love and relationships in general, but it was also a concise summary of our current situation . . . my mortal illness, the threat of William, the attack on Mama were all thorns that must be endured for want of the rose . . . for want of love and family.
