A/N: Yay! Thanks to everyone who reviewed! Keep it up! I started this as soon as I saw the +7 reviews! Some of you are probably wondering how I'm going to keep this cannon and still kill Edward, make Bella a Vampire, etc. I'm not going to tell you what happens to E.J. just yet, but Bella will be changed, although later than Edward. I hope you like how I do it. I'm deviating slightly from cannon with how Bella gets changed, obviously. Because even though Edward has a love to last infinity, I don't think he could not stop his bloodlust as a newborn. Looking at his past, he actually has one of the dirtiest track records of all the Cullens. True, he picked out the bad guys, but he still feasted on human blood.

Anyway. You'll see what happens. I think you'll enjoy the ride.

Calibeachbabe: The survival rate for people once they contracted the influenza wasn't too long. Elizabeth got it around the same time as Edward. Since big cities were in a state of quarantine (sick people separated indefinitely from healthy people) we can assume that they got it around the same time because they're at the hospital together.

Disclaimer: I never have and never will own anything mentioned in SM's Twilight. I am but a poor student. She is a God. Enjoy.

Warning: Break out the tissues now, girls.

. . . . . . . . . . .

Chapter Twelve: Fate

. . . .Part One: Edward. . . .

Elizabeth, Charlie, and I rode home together in a cab. All of us wore relieved smiles on our faces. Elizabeth still cried quietly beside me. Charlie occasionally patted her hand. It was hard to focus on either of them. I was far too absorbed in the fact that I was a father.

Charlie's slap on the shoulder brought me out of my head.

"You've done well, son," he said proudly. I fought the moisture in my eyes at the words. Generally speaking, Charlie stringently gave no acknowledgement to the fact that Bella and I were adults, and as married adults, had been intimate.

"Thank you, Charlie." I knew my voice was heavy with emotion. Abruptly, I was immeasurably grateful to Mother for trying to convince me to remain a civilian. No triumph in battle could compare to the feeling in my chest now.

The cab dropped Charlie at his home on 41st street. Mother and I continued home on foot, both of us smiling ear to ear.

"I'm proud of you, darling," she said softly into the darkness. The streetlamps only threw her delicate features into sharp relief. I could tell where her nose and mouth were, and see the profile of her face, but little more. Only her voice could belie her tears.

"You and Bella both… I know your father is so proud, too. I'm a grandmother."

"Congratulations, Mother," I said with a grin. Feeling as if I were about to explode from excitement, I swept her up into my arms and spun her around, running pell-mell down the street while she screeched.

"Edward! Let me down this instant! What in God's name are you doing? This is most unseemly, Eddie dear!"

But she was laughing, and I was laughing with her.

The next morning, Mother and I left the confines of the house together. I cancelled all business at the firm as a holiday in celebration of my son's birth. It wouldn't slow work any, considering the number of people that had been reported being infirm (either from real sickness or fear of becoming sick).

So we strolled up Elm and down to the numbered avenues in search of a furniture shop. Mother had long ago donated my bassinet to the poor, and Charlie had not thought to bring the bassinet Bella used as a baby to Chicago. I shuddered to think of my son sleeping in one of the fabric slings that passed as bassinets at the hospital.

The store was mostly empty except for one other woman wearing a cloth mask over her mouth and nose. I nodded politely to the proprietor. This was not my first visit of course. Junior already had a hand-carved cherry wood crib waiting for him at home. He had fresh linens embroidered with ducks and rabbits. He had a rocking horse and a stuffed Benjamin bunny. Miss Potter's bunny books were lined neatly against his windowsill.

I spotted what I wanted quickly enough. The wickerwork bassinet was lined with soft linen cushioning and stood about three feet tall with its platform. Perfect for travel and for the hospital. Elizabeth cut me off before I could go to the register, holding up a white linen skirt for the bassinet.

"Is that really necessary, Mother?" I asked in amusement. Hopefully Bella and baby would only be in the hospital a little longer before leaving with us for the country.

"Of course it is! And we should take her the christening gown and the other clothes, as well," she said with a nod, as if that ended the matter. I humored her, spending the extra six dollars on the bed skirt. We went grocery shopping after that, picking out our meals for the next week or so. Mother bustled around happily in her walking dress, the picture of feminine stateliness, pinching that tomato and tapping that watermelon. It was refreshing to see her out and about after so long cowering in fear of the damned flu.

I thought mostly about my son. My grin would not fade as I thought about teaching him baseball, counting stars with him, catching fireflies in the summer, building him a clubhouse. Camping. Fishing. Hunting. Horseback riding, though I knew cars were the future of transportation. I would teach him how to drive, too, of course. I, in my father's tradition, would teach him how to make breakfast, and for Bella's birthday we'd bring her a tray of her favorites together.

The few strangers we passed stared at me in incredulity, as if to say, "What do you have to smile so openly about? Can't you see we're miserable?"

And with my impudent smiles I answered, "Life, Dear Friends, nothing more."

…..

The following day we took the bassinet and the clothes to the hospital. As when Eddie was first born, they wheeled Bella and baby out to just behind the locked windowed doors. She smiled and made him wave. He blinked a little confusedly and I felt nothing but joy at Bella's radiance and our little son's tiny face. Sister Agatha met us in the waiting area after Bella and Eddie left to take their things from Elizabeth and I. She told us that she would scrub everything thoroughly before allowing it to go anywhere near the baby, and I thanked her for it.

"When do you want your son to be christened?" she asked me as I was preparing to leave with Mother.

"As soon as possible," she answered before I could speak. I frowned but held my tongue. If it would comfort her, then I was willing to miss it. I knew that Sister Agatha could have Junior christened in the hospital's chapel.

"Then I'll get that gown washed and pressed by tomorrow. I'll let Mrs. Masen know that you've agreed to proceed. She did not want to decide the matter without your input," the nun explained. Elizabeth thanked her and we both left in bright spirits.

My bed felt far too empty without Bella's presence. It seemed, as soon as I felt that I was ready to be her husband first and foremost and grieving son after, fate would take my wife from me temporarily and leave me at odd ends.

The morning could not come sooner. The office was even less populated than it had been the day before. But those who had shown up were as excited as I was to be back at work, even if they were still afraid of sickness. Cigars were passed left and right. Of course, with the deficit of cases in the work queue there was more than enough time for friendly banter.

"How's Missus Bella, Mr. Masen? Wot's the baby look like?" asked one of the girls in the research room.

Vanessa was maybe sixteen, full of life, and newly engaged to be married in a year. Her husband had an education up to the third grade. She had managed to go to public school until the eighth grade, and was rather adept at fishing through lists of names and addresses of witnesses.

"He would barely fit in the palms of my hands," I said in quiet reverence. "He has my father-in-law's curls, but my hair color. The shape of his eyes is the same as Bella's, and his mouth. But he has my ears and nose. He's a handsome little boy." The pride I exuded made the others laugh.

"Lucky you are to have them both at the hospital for now. Both 'ah my boys were born at home and the crying like you wouldn't believe it, Mr. Masen!" cajoled Amsel Barkovich. "They only quit their squalling to drink mother's milk and sleep!"

"Oh, no, Amsel. I'd much prefer to have Junior at home. Bella says he sleeps regularly, just as before his birth, and he does not cry much when he needs care, either."

"Lucky bastard then, 'ent ya, Master Masen." Joseph O'Kierney clapped his hand on my shoulder as he passed, carrying a stack of documents. "My litter still doesn't know when to hush their noise and they're nearly working age, now."

"It is curious, isn't it?" I mused. "Mother always told me I was an outright beast as an infant-in-arms. Crying day and night. Colicky, probably. Yet my son hardly lets out a peep."

"It's a little scary, I think."

The voice from the door made me shudder. It was Newton. Of course Newton would pick this of all days to torment me with his ugliness. I affixed a polite smile on my face before turning to look at him. Apparently Jessica Stanley's dowry had last him this long. He wore a twelve-dollar suit, at least.

"May I help you in any way, Newton?" …Perhaps in finding the door. I was quite capable of picking him up by his shirt collar and throwing him bodily from the premises if it came to that. I smirked, finding I enjoyed the idea immensely.

Newton stumbled forward, coughing. Spittle flew from his mouth and his chest heaved after each one. The people nearest him quickly dispersed, backing away, leaving a wide gap around him.

"Your dad owes me money, Masen," he gasped, wiping a line of phlegm from his mouth.

His face, upon closer inspection, was shadowed with stubble. Darkening of the fabric at his underarms, chest, and back, and behind his knees revealed that he had been perspiring profusely for some time now.

"Newton, my father's been dead for months," I said cautiously.

He was delirious. There wasn't any conscious thought behind his crazed eyes. He stumbled closer, and fell forward, vomiting violently over the hardwood floor. A couple of the ladies squealed in disgust, many had fled the room already.

"Jackson, call an ambulance," I cut through the uproar. "Mr. Netwon needs a hospital. Tell them his home address. His mistress may be infected, too."

I arrived home at nearly eight. The doctor at Mercy hospital had called twice to ensure that I sent all of my employees home and closed up shop. I would not reopen the office until a week had gone by without any of them falling ill. I phoned Charlie upon walking in the door, ignoring Mother's questions for now.

"Chief Swan," he answered.

"Charlie, it is I, Edward," I said wearily. He immediately became more alert.

"What's the matter, son?"

"Nothing. Bella is well, as always, but there was an incident at the office today. I'm not going to be there this week. The head surgeon at Mercy hospital asked me to place a voluntary quarantine on the building for at least a week. I have already told my employees to stay home for the week, with vacation pay. I will be staying home as well. So I hope you will understand if I ask you to stay away this Sunday. Bella would never forgive me if I exposed you to illness."

"Oh. Of course, Edward. Are you alright?"

"I believe so. Unfortunately, I happened to be standing closest to the individual in question…"

"I'm sure you'll be fine, Edward."

"Of course I shall. I have to take care of Bella and Eddie, after all. Goodnight, Charlie."

"Goodnight."

I hung the receiver back in its bracket and turned to face my mother. As I expected, her fine features had twisted into fear and anger.

"Edward, Explain!"

And so I did. She eventually calmed herself and we both agreed to stay in for the remainder of the week.

Still, I managed to sneak out and visit the hospital during the evenings, after tea. Mother always took a nap and I would jog to the end of the block, hail a cab, and go stare at my beautiful son and wife until suppertime, then sneak back in under the pretense of just being outside for a moment.

All for the sake of keeping Mother calm. No matter what, I wouldn't let fear hold me from my son. Besides, even if I was infected he was safe from behind the glass-paned doors.

...

. . . .Part Two: Elizabeth. . . .

...

I woke Monday, August 14, to hear the sounds of retching from down the hall. I alighted from my bed as quickly as I could, slipping on my dressing gown and slippers before padding down the hallway to Bella and Edward's room. I knocked several times before pushing open the door, calling for my son.

"Edward? Eddie, dear, are you quite alright?"

Cold fear gripped me when I received no answer save a choked sort of gurgle. I rushed into the bathroom only to find Edward draped over the basin of the toilet. He had taken on a bluish tinge to his skin. His nightshirt clung to his body with sweat. The sick in the basin was flecked with blood. I covered my mouth and nose with my kerchief and squared my shoulders. I tied the cloth about my face and pulled my boy up. His weight, so much greater than when he was a babe in my arms, dragged on me. I half expected him to resist, but Edward seemed aware enough to help me heave his body to a mostly-standing position.

I pulled his arm over my shoulders and directed him towards the door. Huffing and beginning to sweat under the heat and weight of him, I somehow managed to half drag my son down the stairs and to the porch. I sat him as gently as I could with his head leaning against one of the wooden posts before running to the street. It was early, and I could not see any cabs.

"Damn," I expelled as I turned on my heel, going back into the house.

I rifled through Edward's bedside drawer until I found the key to the ford car parked by the walk. Getting the boy inside it was little more difficult. It took a full ten minutes to get him lifted into passenger seat, his legs pushed in almost as an afterthought. I knew he would forgive me for any stiffness later.

I stared at the steering wheel in frustration. I had seen Edward start the contraption hundreds of times. Finally I remembered that I first had to crank the motor. Pulling on the kidskin gloves I kept in the dash, I circled around to the front and cranked it vigorously, knowing I probably did so in excess. The beast started easily enough then, and I shifted experimentally. Eventually I determined which gear was required for forward movement and pressed the pedal to the floor.

The trip to Mercy hospital was – thankfully – uneventful. I left the car on the curb outside the hospital entrance, and drew enough attention with my questionable parking ability that several nurses came to my aid in pulling Edward from the car. They all wore wool nose-and-mouth masks.

Mercy hospital was a horror. Inside, gurneys laden with dead and set to rotting bodies were left lining the halls. Some were stacked double, the victims' skin varying in shades of death. Swallowing back bile as I followed the nurses who pushed my son's gurney, I made a silent prayer that my boy would be protected from this horror. He was a healthy boy. He had only been coughing a little before. And then, not often at all.

Had he been hiding headaches and fever from me? Surely he would not lie…

But he would. I knew the answer immediately. Edward was just like his father. Anthony had always done all he could to spare me from worry and pain. And now, it could cost my son his life. Cure or not, there was a slight survival rate, with proper treatment. But now…

If it would take a miracle, that is what I vowed to find. My Edward, of all people, deserved to be spared from this fate.

The room in which the nurses left Edward and myself was no larger than a broom closet. Two other hospital beds were pushed against the other wall. They had assigned me to the bed adjacent to Edward's. Since I had been exposed, I would be quarantined. They saw me as a potential body.

It infuriated me that these people were so intent on letting the infected die. Not I. I refused to succumb. And so would my boy.

It had been an hour now since they brought us, and Edward still suffered from his fever. I pushed away from my bed forcefully and stood over him, peeling back his soaked nightclothes gently before tossing them aside. I assumed someone would incinerate them later. A water basin sat between each bed. I soaked a facecloth and methodically wrung it out until it barely dripped.

Edward's forehead burned like fire beneath my fingertips. I slowly and gently sponged away sweat with the cool cloth at his forehead, neck, underarms, knees, and elbows. Stopped. Rewet the cloth, wrung it out, repeated the process. By the fifth repetition, Edward felt only a little cooler. Finally, he seemed to sleep peacefully. Occasionally, he would cough and wake for a few moments, but he was never lucid. So I sang to him, like I always had when he was sick as a child.

"Oh, who will plow the field, or who will sell the corn/Oh, who will wash the sheep, and have them nicely shorn?/The stag that's in the haggard, unthrashed it may remain/Since Johnny went a-thrashing the dirty king of Spain

"And the girls from the Boyne, in sorrow may retire/ The piper and his bellows, may go home and blow the fire/ For Johnny, lovely Johnny, is sailing o'er the main/ Along with other patriots, to fight the King of Spain/ The boys will sorely miss him when mun-a-hoor comes around/And grieve that their bold captain is nowhere to be found/ The Peelers "roughed" and idle against their will and grain/ For the valiant boy who gives them work now peels the King of Spain

"If cruel fate will not permit our Johnny to return/ His heavy loss, we Bantry girls will never cease to mourn/ We'll resign ourselves to our sad lot and die in grief and pain/Since Johnny died for Ireland's pride in the foreign land of Spain"

I laughed a little at the irony. The Spanish Influenza now threatened my boy's life just as surely as the Spaniards threatened the lives of my ancestors, years ago. Tears threatened to spill over my cheeks so I inhaled deeply, closing my eyes against the painful scene before me, steeling myself for the future.

If anyone would die, it would be I, not he. My angelic lad would not be doomed to one of the freshly dug mass-graves, to be forgotten, buried among the rapists, cheats, and woman-beaters he had fought so hard to jail.

The opening of the door for the first time in nearly two hours startled me. But years of practice allowed me to hide it well behind a shifting of my shoulders, adjusting my shawl rather than jumping in alarm.

"Madam, would you know which of these is newly arrived?" asked the doctor. He was incredibly beautiful for a man, and for a moment I found myself distracted by the honey blonde hair and his long-lashed, dark, amber eyes.

"My son and I both arrived early this morning, Doctor," I answered a little more sharply than I intended. This man voluntarily exposed himself to the dead and dying every day. His appearance was a testament to his courage. He was not my enemy. He would try to help.

Attempting to convince myself of this, I gestured to Edward. He had begun sweating again. I immediately went to the washbasin upon noticing this, taking up the cloth again. The doctor waited for me to say more while I began the methodical process of wiping sweat from Edward's body while simultaneously cooling him.

"His vomiting woke me this morning. When I went to assure myself of his health, I found him in a state of delusion. He has not been lucid since some time after dinner the night before."

The doctor watched silently as I continued the ritual, stopping after he seemed to have cooled some. I left the blankets off him, wiping down his chest and arms with the nearly dry cloth to keep him from getting a chill. I met the doctor's gaze and immediately felt my ire rise.

"Why do you look upon me with pity, sir? Do you know for whom you supposedly care? Do you suggest that what I do is in vain? Look at the face of my son and tell me that you have given up on his life! I shall leave this moment if that is the case. I shall return to my home and care for him myself, your protocols and quarantine be damned!"

The room was deadly quiet. Even the other sick, worse off than my Edward, stilled their coughs and whimpers while they waited for the doctor's answer. I glared up at him and drew myself to my full height. The man with the golden eyes looked down at me in surprise. His chiseled mouth had fallen open and his eyebrows had risen considerably.

"I… Of course I have not given up on your son, Madam. Please forgive me for making you think such a thing. Of course I will do everything I can for him. It's the least I have ever done for my patients."

"Who are you, exactly?" I said a little less harshly, though the bite still clung to my tone. I felt hot. The room was sweltering.

"My name is Carlisle Cullen, Madam. May I inquire as to your name?"

"Elizabeth Masen."

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Masen. Your son would not be Edward Masen, would he?" the doctor asked. His brow was furrowed in worry.

I frowned.

"Yes. But why do you ask?"

Dr. Cullen's features smoothed over automatically, almost suspiciously quickly.

"Ah, I've only heard of his late Father's law firm. My condolences on his passing… He had a reputation as a brilliant lawyer, a tradition your son is following it seems."

I could not help but smile at his use of the present progressive tense. My son is becoming a brilliant lawyer.

"Of course. Anthony would be most proud of our boy."

Carlisle smiled at my tender expression. I began the process of mopping up Edward's sweat again. He was too warm…

"Is there anything to do about the fever?" I asked quietly.

"I'm afraid not, Mrs. Masen."

"What can you do?"

"Depressingly little, madam," answered the doctor dejectedly. His eyes reflected the pain I felt at his words. "Only keep him comfortable as possible and administer penicillin. It has little effect, however. The best I have been able to do is give a little gin, or other spirits, for the cough…"

"Perhaps we both could use some gin at this crossroads," I suggested.

The doctor flashed me a white smile and nodded, leaving for a moment. He returned with a tray laden with cheap gin. It would feel warm enough, though. And I would be able to sleep. Perhaps my Edward would stop coughing so painfully.

I shook him into half-wakefulness carefully and spooned gin into his mouth. Edward swallowed and sputtered a little, but his chest relaxed and he leaned less fretfully against the pillows. I downed my tumbler-full in one gulp. The other patients, or at least the one who was able, took a couple of sips, then a stronger drink. The other moaned depressingly and rolled over without looking at it. The doctor poured me another shot of the vile stuff.

"To your health," he said reservedly. I graced him with a defiant smile before tossing back the second shot.

"To Edward's health and yours, Doctor Carlisle Cullen."

. . . . . . .

A/N: Happy reading.