-Chapter Twenty One: Hallelujah Part Three-

Well there was a time when you let me know,
What's really going on below
But now you never show that to me do ya?
And remember when I moved in you?
And the holy dove was moving too
And every breath we drew was Hallelujah
Hallelujah…

-Leonard Cohen

*

-Rosalie-

'Au clair de la lune, mon ami Pierrot. Prête-moi ta plume, pour écrire un mot. Ma chandelle est morte, je n'ai plus de feu. Ouvre-moi ta porte pour l'amour de Dieu.'

Above me, lying on top of me as if I were some sort of exquisitely comfortable chez lounge, Edward laughed and nuzzled the hollow of my throat with lazy affection.

"Why are you singing in French?" he asked me, his words slow and comfortable.

My hands, currently twined in his hair, moved to his face so I could bring him back to my lips. He obliged without hesitation, kissing me languidly; but deeply.

Humanity was starting to return in slow, almost unwilling trickles. We were laughing and teasing. I could recall and things that I loved. I could see colours again; feel other sensations around me, nuances of the wooden floor, tiny grains of glass. I could taste the air again and we were caught in a strange intermediate of the two worlds.

"Because," I said against his mouth. "We're in France."

I moved my foot up and down the back his leg; we were still embraced in a deeply personal way, neither one of us willing or able to make a move towards modesty.

"You used to sing that song in your head before," he pointed out, biting at my bottom lip. "When you were trying to avoid thinking about me."

"It was my favourite lullaby when I was young," I said in a low voice; surprising myself that I was still capable of rational speech at this point. "My nanny used to sing it to me when I couldn't sleep."

We were still wrapped in one another; lying in the wreckage of the mess we had made during our turbulent frenzy. Oak beams and splintered window frames surrounded us; bits of broken glass lay beneath our bodies; impervious to the sharp edges. We had destroyed the place in all but structure; it could collapse around us at any given moment, but neither one of us cared enough to go outside to the ocean bathed in twilight.

"Why couldn't you sleep?"

The corners of my mouth curled up. "I was afraid."

He was smiling too. "Of vampires?"

"No," I said, shaking my head minutely. "I was afraid of dying in my sleep."

He held our hands together, lifting them up and spreading my fingers out with his; making a mirror out of us both. He watched this with cloudy fascination; I had never seen his face so young. "I used to think that," he revealed. "I used to think that when I fell asleep, I would forget to breathe."

"What lullaby did your parents sing to you?"

He kissed my fingers individually, avoiding the answer. I so wished I could read his mind and see what he was thinking, even though it was so obviously drawn all over him. His warm mouth lingered on my index finger longer than it had with the others; he put it between his teeth and swirled his tongue around it. I let out a small, unstoppable moan.

"You wouldn't like to be in my head," he promised me, words faintly obscured by my fingers in his mouth.

I laughed. "I'm never out of your head," I replied, and he relinquished my finger, kissing it before returning it me. He went to pull away, but I held onto him; keeping him close to me. "Don't," I said. "Let's not go back just yet."

He didn't have to ask, of course, what I meant. His burnt gold eyes darkened a fraction. "We have to think about it, Rose," he murmured, although he didn't look like he really believe that. He seemed as though he wanted me to come up with reasons why we could stay here, absorbed in one another.

"No, we don't," I promised him. "We're on the other side of the planet. We don't have to think about anything, except each other."

A small smile crept over his face and he kissed me again. I was taken aback by the sudden, strange youthfulness that had come over him. Edward was usually so withdrawn and controlled; breathtakingly stunning and God-like of course, but there was an oldness around his eyes that he couldn't seem to shake. Now it was gone; washed away by something that glowed. His skin was almost translucent with it; I wondered if I was glowing similarly.

"You always glow," he breathed into me. "You're the sun; the moon and all of the most beautiful, brilliant stars."

I laughed again. "Such prose, Edward Cullen."

"Doesn't make it any less true," he teased, moving his hand down from my chest, making intricate patterns on my skin with his fingers. If he could have bled ink, he would be sketching curling vines all over me and I would have let him. Tattoos of places he had touched me; maps of our intimacy. He moved agonisingly slow; his touch too light to be anything satisfactory, but not light enough for me to retain control of my emotions. The slow, focused administrations were driving me slowly mad; undoubtedly his plan from the beginning.

He continued to swirl the ends of his fingers over my skin with fascination, as if he was really making art. Maybe that was what he saw; perhaps he could see what he was drawing on me. My mind wandered as I lay my head back, closing my eyes and letting him trace invisible designs and shapes all over me. When he reached my outer thighs, I shivered involuntarily. He paused, lifting his fingers away.

He replaced them with his lips. Now he continued to draw the same patterns on me, instead using his lips and the tip of his tongue. The combination of too many pleasurable things were pooling increasingly in my stomach. Too much happiness, I suspected. Too much contact, without there fully being contact. Too much closeness, without having him looking at me.

That was one thing I could never get enough of. His eyes. It was so clichéd and trite; to spend endless hours, sometimes days, brooding over the eyes of an infatuation or a lover - yet no such internal reprimand could ever convince me otherwise. His eyes were everything to me, I could look into them and see him. He would look back at me and then it would shock through us…the connection. This too, sounded trite. To call what existed between us a 'connection'. But as always, humanity was a few centuries behind us in these terms, and as of yet…still no words.

Upon hearing my thoughts, he looked up from where his attention had currently been heavily focused on my left knee. "I always think that," he said, pleasurably out of breath. "No words. Strange, isn't it?"

"How so?" I didn't really care, I just wanted to hear his voice…keep him looking at me. He smiled knowingly at me, biting his bottom lip as his fingers moved to the soft, very sensitive skin on the back of my knee. A weak spot, of sorts.

"Strange that humanity, the species who write love songs and love stories, cannot lend us words enough to articulate this." His eyes never left me; the voracious intensity between us demanded eye contact as much as possible. Meanwhile, his fingers stroked my skin in a torturous way as I struggled not to let it overcome me.

"Strange indeed," I managed, the last syllable cracking slightly. "Maybe we will live long enough to see linguistic validation."

"Maybe?" he echoed, cocking his head slightly to one side. "You plan on leaving?"

"Not all of us can see the future," I said, managing to sound eloquent considering what he was doing to back of my knee and how it was making me feel. "Nothing is certain."

"Rien n'est un certain ... rien, mais vous," he murmured, leaning down and dragging a trail of kisses from my knee to my ankle. I loved it when his mouth would curl around other languages. With nothing but time, we all had the opportunity to learn absorb endless knowledge; languages and music were our favourites. French was somewhat basic; rudimentary, but such a beautifully sculpted language that I could not object to hearing it.

"Rudimentary?" he said, pretending to sound offended. "I see that immortality has had no effect whatsoever upon your unimpressed nature. What language would you prefer?"

We were playing now, delaying the dark, impending moments until we would have to stop this…and start talking about the consequences of such delightful recklessness. I quickly threw the thought as far as it would go, and focused on being here with him; more importantly, keeping him here with me.

"I'm afraid, Mr Cullen," I said, sitting up to face him directly. He moved his hands down my shoulders, to my hands and contented himself with tracing circles on the palms of my hands while he waited for what I would next say, even though he already knew. "That I am considerably hard to please."

"I believe I may be up to the challenge. Ask what you will of me, my lady."

I smiled, and from my mind he drew his time-wasting objective.

Spanish. "Yo nunca sabía ir a misa hasta que yo supiera amar."

I never knew how to worship until I knew how to love.

Portuguese. "Somos todos em miséria, mas alguns de nós estão vendo as estrelas."

We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.

Latin. "Ego sum in vos quod vos in mihi, mutuus in divinus diligo."

I am in you and you in me, mutual in divine love.

I was caught up in his impossibly charming voice, spilling out some of his favourite extracts from literature, expecting him to say yet another quote, perhaps in Russian this time.

"You are my life," he said quite plainly. "What language would you like that in?"

I answered by kissing him; unhurried and warm, as our kisses so rarely were. "English is fine."

We kissed for a while, wholly lost in one another. This was uncommon; usually kissing was a frantic struggle for more contact, until such a time as we could be as connected as possible; finally achieving the objective becoming one whole being. Kissing was always a prelude to something else; it hadn't been like this for decades. A more diluted form of intimacy; an irregularity in the normal fabric of our involvement. I kissed him until there was a strangely loud silence, filling up my head. I felt almost dizzy…too much happiness.

He withdrew unwillingly, his arms still enveloping me completely. I didn't know how I had come to be sitting on him, my legs wrapped around his back. He leaned into my neck and moved his head from side to side, rubbing his nose and lips across my collarbone.

"My Rose," he was murmuring. I could just feel his lips moving over my skin as he repeated the two words, like some brief, but significant catechism. "My Rose."

I leant down, seeking his mouth with my own. The need for contact was increasing, as unwanted thoughts continued to draw near. Calling me 'Rose'wasn't helping, but I liked the sound of it coming from him too much to protest.

When we kissed again, there was something else in it. Warmth replaced with heat; lingering indulgence replaced by concentrated urgency. As always, we were powerless in it's wake, as the desire ripped through me and, indisputably, through him as well. I could hear my own breathing, tight and constricted, mingling with his own. There was never enough oxygen; even though we didn't need it. I was dizzy again; light-headed with breathlessness and longing. My hands ran up the back of his neck, tangling in his hair as we kissed. The slow, playfulness was gone; in it's path, the burning need to consume one another in kisses and passion and closeness. It erupted through me, like a phoenix demanding rebirth. He was the whole universe, the focal point of any and all existence. He was my soul. He was me.

I kissed him harder; our bodies following the well worn ritual of trying to actually meld into one another. I could never get him close enough; never taste him enough, never have enough of him beneath or above me. It was always a desperate struggle to be closer, even when it simply wasn't possible anymore. Whatever pulsed through us, wanted to discard the skin and bones…it demanded unconditional connection; screamed to be made whole. It was impossible to disobey; like trying to defy the laws of gravity. When we could be alone, each embrace sent us into spirals of devastating ecstasy. The world faded willingly into massive insignificance. I would never understand how I could feel so much for him…my body and mind didn't feel like they could fully take it.

Sometimes, I wasn't able to take it. Sometimes I would surrender to the sheer weight of the nameless emotions and I would feel myself crying. They were strange, sorrow-less tears. They were tears a human might cry upon first hearing an heartbreakingly beautiful piece of music. There was no stopping it; experiencing something so wholly derailing and earth-shattering…it happened of it's own accord. We would lay there; shaking violently, crying and drowning in the feelings that we denied for so long, until such a moment as we could finally be alone together. Everything we deprived ourselves of, everything we pretended wasn't screaming for indulgence - it exploded out of us in burning, aching bolts of heat. The afterglow of such an experience left us trembling and raw; totally astray in each other, no distinction between us as individuals.

We had cried hours ago, while the sun was still illuminating the world, hidden away by the rotting wooden roof of this lighthouse we were gradually destroying with our powerful desires. Now we were bathed in darkness; my favourite time. If I had my way, I would keep it as night forever.

We weren't crying now. The established connection had strengthened our endurance of something so explosive and devastating. We could tolerate it now, only just. I wondered if this is how it would be if we were to leave forever, and stay together.

I knew I shouldn't be thinking of it, because if it turned into a plan, then Alice would see it. But such rationality only comprised a tiny portion of my being just then. The rest of me was carved from recklessness and need. I couldn't force myself to care, even seeing Emmett's face in my head couldn't make me pull away.

But it was enough to make Edward tear himself from our kiss.

"What?" he gasped, his chest rising and falling rapidly. "Why are you…?"

"I wasn't planning it," I breathed hastily. "I know it can never happen. Imagining… very different from planning." I spoke fast, my reassurances were hollow and rushed; I only wanted him to keep kissing me, keep touching me. I needed the warmth of his body on mine, in mine. I needed it so much it made my chest ache.

I tried to renew the embrace, but he held me back. "Damn it, Rose," he rasped, closing his eyes tightly. "Why did you have to think of him?"

I realised that seeing Emmett in his mind wouldn't exactly be an aphrodisiac to Edward, even if we weren't betraying him.

Dismissively, I said "Sorry."

I waited for him to come back to me; there was a darker part of me that I ignored. It was telling me not to wait for him, to grab him and kiss him and make him mine with or without his consent. I blocked it out, knowing exactly what part of me that was. I would never do that to him, even though it would be all too easy when he was like this…in such a state.

"Please," I said, running my trembling hands down his face. "Please."

I knew he felt it too; the same insistent need inside of us that command satisfaction and fulfilment. Every moment we were apart, it physically hurt. Every second that he spent not touching me, drove a very tangible pain through me. In this, we were truly helpless. Driven powerlessly through the motions of a phenomenon we knew so little about.

"Just," he said tightly, his eyes closed as my middle finger played across his lips. "Don't think about him again."

I slammed the thought from my mind and we clashed together again, with enough force to bruise, had we been less that immortal. After a few moments spent blindly struggling for contact and sensation, one of us gave in and fell backward with the other on top. It was only when I felt my back hit the floor that I realised it was me. The floor finally gave beneath us, and we went crashing through the rotten wood of the lighthouse floor, down to the level beneath us in a tumble of ardour and rapture. I wouldn't have cared if we had plummeted through the earth itself and down into hell. We were a tangled frenzy of heat and union; of magic and darkness, of passion and absolute, perfect desperation. We were everything and nothing; thrumming silence and shimmering delight.

There was no time to even contemplate the danger of what I was doing; the betrayal to my husband. In one smooth motion, he drove all thought from my mind and replaced it with blissful completion. We were - at last, it always seemed - connected. Only like this, could there be that higher understanding. Everything seemed possible when we were like this; inconceivably close, undeniably bound. Crying out in unison, the unbearably delicious friction adding to the pooling heat between us. It was more than physicality…more than making love and bodily connection and skin and kissing…when we were like this, I could feel his soul and mine. They were one and the same. When we were this close, our souls could just about touch; two hands extended, fingertips brushing.

It was only during this time, that I believed in God. Of such an existence, I was certain. But when I was with him like this…I believed in God. I believed in everything…anything. I believed in him, most of all. His energy pulsed through me as if it were my own; the reciprocity staggered me. I couldn't hear his thoughts, but I could feel that he felt the same as I did.

We left the world behind us, creating our own universe, of which we were the centre. The energy and heat between us, could have created new life…new planets…a new existence.

There was no gravity, no oceans, no sky, no earth. There was only us, and everything that might have existed outside of us, fell into shocking insignificance.

Later on that night, as he sat side by side watching the waves crash gently onto the small pebbles of the beach, I waited for him to speak. I hunched my legs together, leaning my cheek on my knee and waited. He was looking above the ocean at the sky, sprinkled with so many stars it looked almost messy. Echoes of dying lights; pinpricks of hope in the blueish-blackness. I could have thought of a million quixotic metaphors for the stars, and yet not able to form a single word about what we were now facing.

Dawn was approaching, with it the impending obligation to deal with what we had done. Certainly it was not the first time we had done this, nor - I could not help but think - would it be the last. Of this game, we were well acquainted. But this time, we had crossed a barrier without hope or care of returning.

Even as my mind articulated these thoughts, in the language I had been raised surrounded by, I realised that I didn't deserve hope. I deserved to go back and find that Alice had told everyone. I deserved to be hated and despised; to be made to see his face when he would look at me and realise that I had betrayed him and that I had done so with undeniable, inexpressible pleasure.

I knew Edward could hear my thoughts, but he said nothing. Maybe he was thinking the same thing. Maybe he was too wrapped up in his own thoughts to care about mine.

But even as I thought it, he nudged his shoulder into mine for a brief moment reassuringly; silently showing me that he did care…of course he cared.

It was worse than anything I had felt in a long time. The guilt was massively amplified by the simple fact that this occasion had been like no other. I could never recall being so free with him. There always had to be limits, even when we were miles away together. We had to be restrained, because we were in the same country…there had always been danger and we were neither of us stupid enough to find that danger exhilarating. It was always a precaution; a warning of what would happen if we let it rule us completely. So we allowed it more or less free reign, we allowed ourselves the connection, the elation, the bliss.

This had been different. It had never been like this.

And now it was all the more painful because I knew exactly what he was thinking. The same as I was.

There was no way Alice couldn't have seen it.

I had been running it over and over in my mind, trying and failing to find some glimmer of hope that she would miss it. Because we weren't changing anything; because she tried to avoid seeing anything sexual in our lives, because we were so far away even. I had exhausted every possibility, and the conclusion was the same stony, unyielding one that I was sure Edward had come to.

She knew.

If she knew, it was only a matter of time before everyone else knew.

Alice, what I knew of her, was a profoundly good person; prone to slight mischief and whimsicality, but still deeply moral. If she knew what we were doing, there would be no grey area like there was with Jasper. She would tell Carlisle, who would feel duty bound to tell Emmett.

Emmett. Jesus Christ, I knew I deserved hell. I knew it.

It was a mark of the seriousness of the situation, that Edward didn't contradict me.

The ocean continued to break and recoil in front of us. The sky sat patiently above; looking down at us with clinical interest. I wondered what the world above saw us as; how we were viewed from great, invisible heights. Did it look down and ponder upon the strangeness; two creatures risking everything to be with one another, it must have looked like insanity.

I didn't want to speak - my mouth was dry, my stomach clenched in painful knots. Eventually, he breathed in and spoke.

"They'll know by now." His voice was unimaginably grim; void of any hope. "Which leaves us with two choices."

Oh God. He was going to say it. But what difference did it make now? Alice had to have known by this point; planning wouldn't alert her to anything she might be unaware of.

Without realising I was doing so, I voiced those two options. "Leave or return."

This…whatever it was, had reached some sort of defining moment - a breaking point, of sorts. We could either leave together, write to them and tell them that we were never returning. Live with the knowledge of what we had done, but far away. Or we could return and face the consequences.

I thought I would be more in favour of the primary alternative, but in truth they were equally unappealing. Equally ominous. Here we were together, forced to make a decision that would forever change everything. My skin crawled at the thought of Emmett's face; the look in his eyes.

Beside me, his jaw was clenching. I longed to reassure him somehow; touch him and let him know that I was here for him, that I felt exactly the same way. I didn't need to, of course and it was for the best anyway. Physical contact between us wasn't the best idea right now.

"It comes down to this," he said in a low voice. "We leave together, as you have already considered, or we go back together."

"Or alone," I managed to say hollowly. That was another, far bleaker option. That one of us go back, the other never to see the family again. I already knew if it came to that, he would insist on leaving - his decision based on the morals of chivalry, but born out of fear. If one of us would leave, it would most definitely be him. I couldn't blame him.

He shook his head vehemently. "No…whatever we do, we do it together."

"It would be easier to leave," I said quietly. "Easier for us."

"But so unfair to them."

"We'll have to leave anyway," I pointed out, swallowing the lump in my throat. "We're going back, only to be sent away again. What's the point?"

He looked at me for first time since we had come to sit here in shocked, terrified silence. His eyes were profoundly dark.

"Emmett wouldn't send you away." There were traces of bitterness in there.

"Maybe, but I wouldn't be able to suffer his forgiveness even if it was offered. I couldn't live with him, knowing what I did to him."

"What we did to him."

I understood the bitterness. While Emmett might forgive, if never forget, my betrayal - Edward would be a different story. No matter what I said, Edward would get most of the blame.

But there was no 'would'anymore, only 'will'.

Edward will be blamed. We will be sent away.

Certainty had never been less welcome.

He didn't reply to that; we fell into silence, each of us spiralling through an unstoppable inundation of desolation and despair. Every good memory was choking me, drenched in sorrow and self loathing. Only once before had I felt this wretched; only at one other time had I felt so ashamed and so broken.

"Don't," he begged. "Please don't."

I discarded the thoughts, and tried to close my mind off to him. I knew how much he hated his gift at times like these. When he was made to endure my suffering as well as his own, more particularly when he was forced to relive certain memories.

It was strange. Thirty years of living with it, of knowing that it wasn't my fault - that it was nothing to be ashamed of…and yet, it was still a frequent thought. I was as healed as it was possible to be. I loved and was loved in return, I had no reservations owing to it…I held nothing back. Enduring rape and consequentially death had not affected my ability to love nor to experience it. Not any more.

But it was always there, in the back of my mind. What he did…what they did. I realised some years ago that it would never fully leave. Like a wound, it would heal, but it would scar. That scar would become a part of me; a part of me I didn't like, but something I would have to accept. It no longer hurt, but it was there nonetheless.

I was drifting away; preferring to reminisce about the brutal attack I had suffered at the hands of my fiancé, rather than face the crisis at hand.

"I think," he said slowly. "We should go back."

Even though I had been ambivalent about either decision, the moment he said it I was against it. Certainly I was no coward, but this was something very different. Something I had no desire to experience. I felt as though all my years had melted away and I was nine years old again, waiting to be rebuked for something so serious that my mother would defer until my father arrived home. Just like then, I wanted to run from the situation. But I couldn't.

With a notable hitch in my voice, I answered "Alright."

"Whatever happens," he said, shaking his head. "I love you more than I'll every be able to say. Whatever happens, that will never change."

I couldn't answer him; thankful that he knew that I felt the same. The waves were coming closer, another few minutes and the water would be brushing against my toes. I welcomed the coldness; the distraction. Anything but this suffocating silence.

"I can't believe we let it come to this," I said, gazing out blindly at the dark, majestic ocean. "How…how have we come to be here?"

It wasn't rhetorical, I genuinely couldn't understand it. Through everything I had seen, experienced and learned; I still had nothing that would lend me understanding of this. More so, I couldn't see now - in the lucidity of retrospect - how we had let it come to this. I tried to understand why I had let it go this far, when we lived with a prescient. It was beyond stupidity - it was what I promised myself I would never allow to happen.

And still…even while I was contemplating the precise moments of our downfall…I still longed to touch him. Every moment that we were this close and so alone, seemed a moment wasted because we were not touching. I could feel the heat coming from his skin, though to a human it would be freezing. What did that matter? When was a human opinion on the warmth (or lack thereof) of Edward Cullen's skin ever going to be relevant? My mind was drifting away, searching for distractions. Anything but reality.

And there we sat, trembling with the effort of not touching one another. Shaking, not because of the cold, but because of the warmth. Strange, mysterious beings.

But we were strange, even for vampires.

The ocean rolled in soothingly and I allowed my mind to glide gently into warmer areas, where such troubles dissolved willingly like sugar in hot water.

Two beings without centre, leaning towards one another for constancy, to keep from falling and crumbling. Two beings, longing to become one as they stumble closer and if they do not catch in the middle, they will fall and perish for the fall will be from such great heights. Two structures, flawed inside and breaking apart will collapse without foundations. The two beings lean close, giving into the gravity of what channels through them and they fall…only minutely, because one will catch the other and they will meet mid air. The two beings will connect…adjoin and become one strong, whole body able to withstand even the strongest of storms. The gravity of intimacy, the pull of need and want that arches their bodies into strangeness and warmth. We split ourselves open; halved and raw for the other. Spinning and aimless; baseless and groundless. Chaotic and stubborn, creatures driven and moved by desire and desperation. Trickles of silver water and bolts of golden light - clumsy, genuine need and smooth, calculated want. Love that stretches like warm, thick toffee over distances and then snaps when allowed to cool down. The sounds of his mouth when he says my name. His name and the way my lower spine tingles when I get to say it. Something so simple…his name.

Edward Cullen. I could say it forever; each repetition had exactly the same effect on my body, my soul. I could have said it over and over again and the words would have lost no meaning. When I was younger, I would repeat words like 'gate' or 'mirror' over and over until they were completely meaningless - just sounds coming out of my mouth. His name was different.

"Come back," he said softly. "Come back to me, Rose."

I did. I blinked and the ocean came into view once more. My disturbing, murky reverie melted away and cold, harsh reality returned. Maybe I was losing my mind; maybe I willing it away. Either way, I could feel the enticing anaesthesia of madness offering to sully the certainty. It was an undeniable lure, but he would never allow that to happen. I let my unrelated, nebulous trance fade away into nothingness and returned to him.

"Stay with me, please," he beseeched. "I can't do this without you."

"I'm here," I offered, even though I knew it was little comfort. "I'm not going anywhere."

He laughed darkly. "Believe me, I understand the wish to let it take over. Plead insanity and not be lying. I've heard that it happens to some of us; those who can't stand the idea of immortality. Carlisle thought you might…when he first made you. He thought he'd made someone who'd been through such a horrific ordeal that the idea of living with it forever, might drive you to insanity. Or worse."

"No," I said, as contrastingly pleasantly cool salt water just brushed the tip of my toes. "I've never felt like this. Even then, even knowing that I'd live forever, without children or hope of happiness…I never considered letting it all just fall away."

"But you are now?"

I tried to think how best to phrase my answer and then gave up instantly. "How can I look him in the eye, seeing how I've made him feel?"

We were neither of us looking at each other. It was better this way, safer. "Immortal, lethal creatures capable of ending life with God-like swiftness and yet here we are, wracked with guilt over romantic betrayal."

"Thirty years is hardly a mere 'romantic betrayal'. Thinking about you in such a way would constitute as romantic betrayal. What we've done is something else. I can't even begin to think of what to call it."

"You know what the worst part is?" he asked, in a bitterly rhetorical way. "That if Alice hadn't come to be here…if no-one knew, I'd be happier than I ever thought possible."

He just had to say it, didn't he? Why couldn't he stop talking about it and just focus on the devastating crisis at hand? Didn't he know I felt exactly the same? That I hated Alice for coming into our lives and making it so that we had to feel shame, instead of elation at what we had just experienced? For a mind reader, he could be incredibly dense sometimes.

But that was one of a million things I had come to learn about him during our time together and, more notably, apart.

Edward was a strange, complex being. His exterior showed kindness, compassion and, of course, razor sharp intelligence. This intelligence was a birthright; not something he had come to learn with years of endless free time. He was naturally intelligent; the kind of person who had always loved learning. Outwardly, he was quiet and pleasant; he loved his family. He did his best to ignore our thoughts and do right by us. He would use his talent to read the minds of others, to see if they would be a potential danger. Sometimes a human would accidentally stumble onto the truth of the matter. Edward would inform us, and we would be gone in a day. To the outside world, Edward and I did not get along well. They were convinced that we were forcing politeness and civility in place of hostility and coldness. We rarely spoke to one another and never touched.

But beneath that, he was a multifaceted complication; his own worst enemy in most cases. Firstly, he had a deep propensity to brood. He could spend months, sometimes years pondering over something that upset him and it was usually always theological. I knew with great certainty that Edward believed we were soulless. He had come to believe, after so many years, that we were damned creatures; unloved by God. He would read endless books on the subject; Athanasius, John Owen, Thomas F. Torrance, Karl Barth, Thomas Aquinas. He would spend days poring over the works of Socrates, Plato, Locke, Rousseau and even Leonardo da Vinci. Endless hours of reading and writing; scrawling down any relevance to his existential crisis. Sometimes this would soothe him; other times it would fail and he would get this look in his eyes, like the cold, concrete affirmation of our damnation had been carved in one his many books. I would think things around him, trying to reassure him that we weren't soulless…that we were beautiful, intelligent creatures capable of fierce love and affection. He refused to look at me, or make any sign of acknowledgement. I knew what he was thinking; if we weren't soulless, how could we be doing this to them?

He was complicated in other ways too. His loneliness was painfully obvious, simply because of how hard he tried to hide it. I knew in the first years of my marriage to Emmett that he deeply resented me for it. It might be easier to bear, if I had been similarly alone. But I wasn't. He was the only one without his 'soul mate.' The only one condemned to spend eternity alone, save for the stolen hours we had together. He would go to the roof, alone, and watch the world exist without him. Or he would go to the piano and compose music; each key expressing what he never could. Sometimes he would write songs; wordless movements filled with endless combinations of the most heartbreakingly beautiful notes and I would know - without knowing how - that it was for me. Written for me, about me or us. Emmett would make jokes about it, saying that Edward should just marry the piano and be done with it. We would all laugh, but I would know what it meant when he played certain songs. He tended to play 'Clair De Lune'when he was angry with me (because I hated it) and 'Reverie'when I was upset and needed cheering up (because I loved it). He played fast and slow, altering the rhythm of many pieces to suit his mood. He would elaborate; throw in notes that the original composers had not thought to do. He would play incessantly until whatever he was feeling, went away. Then he would come back to us all, smiling and talkative.

It was only a few years ago that we discovered a fantastic way to pass time together; baseball. It was really Esme's idea, one stormy day. We realised that we could play the game, using the thunder to our advantage; as cover. This became an instant sensation in our family, even though we weren't a very big team. We would take it in turns to swap teams; Emmett and I couldn't be on the same team, obviously and nor could Carlisle and Esme which meant that everyone took turns in having Edward on their team. Regardless of this, it was still extremely fun. Edward was very fast and soon he and Emmett found ways of cheating amongst themselves. I grew fond of watching them compete, laugh and knock each other around. Their camaraderie was a beautiful to observe and during these hours, I managed to forget everything bad and focus only on what an amazing family I was a part of.

Of course, sometimes we fought. We had to, in order to avert suspicion. Carlisle's perceptiveness was an inconvenience to us and we had to fabricate whole fights out of nothing but thin air, whenever he would catch us looking at one another. I would always start it, selecting some appropriate issue and then we would fight. Not physically, of course - just with words. Put into opposition, we had to inclination to be deeply cruel to one another. We were both excellent wordsmiths and we knew what areas could cut the other with startling precision. Sometimes I forgot to hold back and I would say something genuinely hurtful. His face stayed stony; cold and shuttered, but I knew I had hurt him. Only very occasionally he would say something personal back to me, something only I would understand and I would know that we had to stop.

Other times, he was cursed by something completely different; an innate desire to help those he loved. For instance, during the first ten years of his time with us, Emmett came to seriously struggle with the idea of never tasting human blood again. Although the guilt of his first kill was substantial, there was still a part of him that fought the shackles of inhibition. Edward took it upon himself to help Emmett through these years, almost single handed. It was something Emmett was deeply ashamed of, and Edward was one of two people (myself included) who he would speak to about it. Edward pulled him through it…brought him out the other side. His determination to help him was unwavering; it was him in the end who saved Emmett from himself. I knew, regardless of the very obvious reason why Edward might go out of his way to help Emmett, that it was because of his nature, rather than some secret debt to his brother.

Another example, was me.

This was something I still struggled to fully understand. There were endless lists of the ways in which Edward Cullen had helped me, all of them private of course. This one, however, stayed with me.

The first decade bore witness to his determination to help me through something I assumed I was done with. His mind reading ability saw through my smiles and laughter and he knew something was wrong. During our brief hours together, sometimes we would manage to talk. A few times, four years after my demise, he would make me talk about it.

I knew that it was agony for him; more so than it was for me, but he still asked me questions - cold, clinical questions that left no detail spared. Such was his determination, that I didn't refuse…or at least, not after a while. When I had told him everything, I asked why had he made me tell him that? What was to be gained from such contemplations?

He had twined his fingers through my hair, tangling them so I could never free myself, and smiled sadly. "Every man must face his hell," he had said gently.

There were many possible meanings in that, most of which meant that he was strengthening himself against the idea of it, but I knew it was all for my benefit. Emmett, for all his integrity and goodness, could not allow me to speak of it with him. It hurt him too much. But that was something Edward could bear. He could let me talk of it - even forced me to do so when reluctance and shame repressed certain aspects of the ordeal. He could endure that, so that I could be rid of it fully.

Just another endless side to the prism of complications that was Edward Cullen.

And here we sat, together as we so rarely were. Edward and Rosalie; two counterparts of the utmost betrayal. Flawed, leaning structures and everything else that I had ever thoughts about our weird, utterly destructive yet undeniably necessary relationship.

Here we sat; ocean before us, dawn only moments away. There couldn't have been a more perfect scene, a more glorious sunrise about to blossom. There had never been two such as we were sitting at this beach. There never would be again.

There was a wrenching agony in my chest; a place where my heart would have been hammering against my ribs. Even in my mind, there was no way I was capable of rationalising this. We had overestimated ourselves; even as immortals, we were not able to cope with this. It was beyond endurance. There was a very real possibility that my chest, my body - my soul - was about to rip itself apart.

Even though my mind must have been as clear to him as La Traviata with front row seats, he didn't say anything. He didn't touch me or offer solace. A small selfish part of me resented his rationality. But then perhaps he was just as wrapped up in his own thoughts as I was.

The water was around my knees when I decided it had gone on long enough. With a reserve of strength I genuinely didn't know I had, I managed to stand up and announce that we were going back. Together.

He didn't follow me straight away; reluctance radiating strongly. He could be reluctant now, because I had taken control. In many ways we were balanced; he could only want something if I forbade it, he could only be selfish if I was being selfless and vice versa.

I shook myself hard, trying to dismiss this warped sentimentality. Where we were going, such musings would be of little help.

"Maybe we don't deserve happiness," I said before I could stop it. His mouth tightened and he hunched his knees a little closer.

"Maybe. We can go through all the 'maybes' if you want. We can speculate and theorise while we're on a different continent, but it's not going to change the situation. We're procrastinating."

"Of course we are. I'd stay here with you forever, given the chance." The chance to live without guilt.

Edward took a deep breath, closing his eyes and holding it in for a while, before exhaling. I knew, by habit, that when he did that - it meant he had come to a decision, and it would commence as soon as the last trace of oxygen was gone.

"We should go," he said. I could hear the hollows in his voice; gaping holes of doubt and fear. I felt almost sick; numb and queasy. But he was right; we couldn't stay here. The ones we loved deserved an explanation; a chance to confront us.

And after everything I had done to Emmett, I could not deny him that right, even if it would kill me.

-Jasper-

The minute sounds of everything, when I'm alone and the world sleeps. The air whispers, even in the midst of moratoria. The light sings. The floor, ceiling and walls watch me with detachment, for they have seen greater sights than I. Colour tricks me, shifting in and out of perception with friendly guile. My eyes transform light into darkness; my bones creak when I move, and my tongue is aware of every nuance of my mouth.

The once foreboding darkness is warm to my touch; bathes me in its velvet depths and rocks me in it's arms, glad to have me alone for once. Everything comes alive, but nothing moves. The night breathes life into everything - giving it character and silent energy. The soul of a thing smiles at me and I sit with my back against the wall and make up reasons why.

Their veins beneath the skin run like rivers; electricity through metal. They breathe everything in to stay alive, to maintain the thick, echoing heartbeat in their ears - to push the blood around the thin, collapsible tunnels that feed everything - the air - into them.

We breathe each other and so become one another. We breathe in life and the air and the person they kiss, and become them…for as long as contact will endure.

I hated it. Even rereading it, I knew that I didn't like it. Sometimes, I would let myself write without really realising what I was writing and, upon critical inspection, I would realise that I had written something that caused strange hostile feelings to stir. Too personal. Too private. I screwed the paper up and threw it in the bin beside the desk.

Behind me, was everything I cared about.

"Hmm," she said, wonderingly. "A different plane. Again."

My hand jolted slightly, a curling 'S'turning into a scrawl. "Alice," I said in a well practised tone of serenity. "You promised."

She laughed softly. "I'm not looking, it just affects their arrival back. A promise is a promise."

I lightly sensed the air around her - her aura - just to see if she was lying. I hated that I even had to do so; Alice would never lie to me. But so much rested on this remaining a secret, that I was driving myself a little mad. In essence, I was being selfish. I wouldn't even bother to attempt denial. I had my own, specifically selfish reasons for going out of my way to make Alice think she should try and give them some privacy. I knew that her gift was involuntary, of course; but she had stopped looking for them, stopped focusing on their future. All she knew was that they were coming back. The times of their arrivals continued to shift, but this was meaningless. If they were coming back - then they were over the worst. Alice couldn't see the past, after all.

Of course, there was always the problem of getting to them in time before they arrived. I knew I should be waiting by the phone so I could be the one to drive to the airport. I knew this, and yet I was away from the phone; here, with my Alice in our room. Writing.

It was very simple. If they were discovered, more than their atrocious indiscretions could come out. I couldn't lose Alice, so it made sense for me to cover for them. Keeping Alice distracted was tricky, but not impossible. I was a weakness of hers. She would focus on my wellbeing and future, just fractionally mind, above everyone else's. I had used this to my advantage, although I despised myself for it. I played a very dangerous game.

I allowed myself to feel the hunger, to actually plan - solidly, with intention - to kill someone. The difference was that I planned to tell her about it. This altered the course - therefore she saw it. Dancing on a razor blade indeed.

So because of this, she kept her focus on me. I suggested that she let them have their privacy, and Alice - having seen firsthand how cruel and personal they could be to one another when fighting - agreed. She was more concerned for me anyway. I couldn't believe it had worked. Alice's visions were nothing if not imperfect, but this seemed a little too lucky.

So I was reduced to sensing her emotions; trying to detect a non-existent lie.

They would be here in a little less than two days. We were all awaiting their return with anticipation. Emmett missed her more than he could say, although he continued to be blasé about it; making jokes and laughing about how if anyone could bring him to his senses, it was Rosalie.

I wondered if they thought we knew. I had tried to imagine them being a little more careful - considering that this might be something that Alice could pick up on. But I knew deep down that I was crediting them control more than they deserved. So they must have thought that we, by means of Alice, knew. I could get to them first, tell them everything and nothing bad would occur…with any luck.

It was still a strange and suspicious miracle that Alice hadn't seen it. Even trying to ignore something wouldn't stop her from seeing it if it was of significant importance. The only thing I could think of was that it wouldn't change anything. Edward would come back and everything would be as it was before. The dangerous loophole.

Without having to indicate verbally, I felt her mood shift. Her hands were sliding around me from behind, her lips pressing to my neck gently.

"My genius," she breathed. "My boy."

I reached up behind me and put one arm around her neck, smiling. "You want to dance?"

She laughed a little, tiny vibrations of the sensation trilling across my collarbone. The fact that there was no music meant nothing. To Alice, there was always music.

"I thought you'd never ask," she murmured into my skin, and in one smooth movement, she pulled me up and into her embrace. We danced together to the invisible rhythm, following the movement of our bodies…swaying to music that no-one else could hear.

-Emmett-

Impatient didn't really cover it. Impatience made me think of a child and there was nothing childlike about how much I wanted her to be here. I missed her like I missed the better part of myself and her arrival back home was taking too damned long! Why hadn't I gone with Jasper? I should have, I shouldn't have offered to stay home and hang Goddamned streamers with Alice and Esme! It was stupid, I was stupid and now I was paying the price for it.

I smiled cheerfully at Alice as she stood on my shoulder to hang brightly coloured streamers from the chandelier. This was all her idea of course, to plan a welcome home party. Myself, I wanted nothing less than my Rose in my arms and a good few days alone away from everyone else. I was shaken up by how much I had missed her; it was bordering on unhealthy.

Which was something I greatly disliked. One thing Rosalie and I weren't, was unhealthy. You read about these tragic star cross'd death-stricken lovers - no, me and Rose were different. We were perfect balance. Perfect in everything except perfection. Perfect because we fought and because she was arrogant and I teased her about it. Perfect because we weren't perfect, but these imperfections did nothing to tarnish just how much I damned well loved her.

We had been apart before; sure we had. Once a year, she'd go back to her home town and Edward would go to make sure that nothing bad happened. This wasn't something I envied him; going back to the place where…no. I couldn't do that. Much as I loved her, I couldn't go back there and maintain my sanity. Just thinking about it was enough to make me shudder. So yeah, we'd been apart - one, maybe two days at a time. Never more than that.

This was different - I missed her so much I could almost taste it. I felt restless, fidgety; I hunted, but I lost my focus. I didn't want to read or play or do anything fun without her. The last week or so had dragged on awfully and now she was only minutes away and I was going out of my mind with impatience.

Even though it still wasn't accurate.

Alice leapt nimbly down from my shoulder; she'd heard the same thing as me.

A car on gravel.

"They're back!" I shouted, completely unnecessarily. "Carlisle, Esme - they're back!"

I ran out of the house, across the gravel and there she was….my Rose. She smiled when she saw my and before we collided, she jumped straight into my arms, without so much as a "hello!".

We were kissing finally. I turned on the spot as we kissed, lost in the joy of being back together again. Her lips tasted of salt - no doubt from the ocean spray. She was kissing me like we'd been away from each other for months, but then I was hardly complaining.

"I love you," I muttered against her lips. "I love you, I love you, I love you. Never leave me again, I missed you way too much!"

Somewhere near us, someone laughed. Edward maybe.

"You think they missed each other?" he said with affectionate sarcasm. I made a mental note to punch him on the shoulder later, but was currently too caught up in my wife…my everything…to care.

-Edward-

The tiniest little motes of dust were dancing around me. Dust - mainly comprising of human skin - was a rare sight in this house. I watched with benign fascination as they swept around me where I sat, circling me with curiosity. Carlisle's study was very clean, so these particles of dust were a mystery.

Benign fascination, because I was still in shock. I couldn't work up any hostile suspicion towards the dust because of the gift we (more accurately I) had been granted.

We had returned home to find that all of our fears were groundless; that no-one knew anything.

At first, I admit I had been disbelieving. Jasper coming to tell us this made me question the veracity of such information. But all doubt had been swept away the moment I read his mind. He had been telling the truth. Rosalie and I had gone through absolute, undiluted hell for nothing. Maybe there was a God after all.

Or maybe Jasper just didn't want Alice to find out about him.

The latter was more obvious, but just then I was happy to be ambivalent about the whole thing.

So sitting there in Carlisle's oddly dusty study, watching dust swirl around me beautifully, I decided to be happy for once and just accept it.

"Edward," my Father said, drawing my attention back to him. "You were saying?"

I had lost my train of thought. "Yes," I said, looking away from the dust. "I was saying sorry. Really Carlisle, I am sorry for leaving. I was being stupid, I told the others before I left why I was leaving and they tried to talk me out of it. I needed perspective, I see that now."

He nodded, fingertips touching together like a skeletal church roof. "I see. And you feel better now? For having had some time…alone?"

"I do," I said, trying to keep the shocked happiness out of my voice. I never thought I would ever be so happy to see Emmett kissing her. However much I was involved with Rosalie and however much it took over my life; my family were still fundamentally important to me. When Emmett had later punched my shoulder and smiled at me, welcoming me back, I hadn't been able to hide my reciprocal smile.

There was a lot to think about. I knew that. Even more to talk about. Coming so close to being discovered had altered my priorities. I didn't know in what way yet, but I knew something was going to change. Maybe it was seeing Rosalie and Emmett…maybe it was hearing their thoughts, something about Rosalie wanting to live away from the family with just Emmett for a while.

"So you're staying?"

I hated that he had to ask. "Of course," I replied easily. "Where else would I go? Everything I care about is here."

So very true.

"Good," he said, rising from his chair to hug me. I met him halfway, impossibly happy to hear how much he had missed me. They were thoughts I never thought I'd hear from him again. "Good."

When we parted, he patted me on the back. "We've all missed you. It's wonderful to have the whole family together again."

"I've missed you all so much," I said honestly. "I even missed this town."

He shrugged. "Don't get too attached."

"Oh?"

"Alice told me that Jasper's been dealing with some very strong yearnings lately. She thinks it might be a Tua Cantante of his."

A term I had only heard once before, referring to a time when Emmett had struggled - and failed - not to kill a young man, who's blood was so beyond irresistible…beyond anything we could all control. The young man had died, we had moved away. I realised that this was what Jasper had concocted to sufficiently distract Alice from foreseeing anything concerning Rosalie and I.

"I see. Has he…?" I asked, already know that he hadn't.

"No," Carlisle replied, worry etched into his slight frown. "But it's unfair to ask him to linger."

"Of course," I said sympathetically. "Did you have somewhere in mind?"

"Not specifically, just somewhere that's away."

I read his indecision. "Forks?" I asked, slightly bemused. "Again? A little too early to return there again, don't you think?"

He sighed; I knew he liked the small, rainy grey town in Washington where we had spent some time a few years ago. Even despite the mild hostility from other 'non-human' inhabitants, we had all liked it. There was a quaint smallness about it that, when coupled with the rain and clouds, made it a perfect place for us to live. But it was too soon to go back there, not enough time had passed between visits. Strange, I thought, for Carlisle to be thinking of returning.

"You're right of course," he relented, squeezing my shoulder. "It's good to have you back son. I'm glad everything is alright."

Not, I felt certain, as glad as I was.

A/N - My dearest, darling readers - I am SO sorry this took to long to post, I can only describe it as the literary equivalent of giving birth. There was consant rewrites with this - very difficult - chapter and only now is it finally something that I like. I really hope you enjoy it, I worked myself to the bone with this one and hope it was worth it. I'm SOO beyond tired now, so I'll leave you with a massive thanks and a plea to PLEASE REVIEW! I need reviews, please!

Thanks all so much for reading, you're all angels.

Translations:

1st quote - "I never knew how to worship until I knew how to love." -Henry Ward Beecher

2nd quote - "We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars." -Oscar Wilde.

3rd quote - "I am in you and you in me, mutual in divine love." -William Blake.

'Au clair de la lune, mon ami Pierrot. Prête-moi ta plume, pour écrire un mot. Ma chandelle est morte, je n'ai plus de feu. Ouvre-moi ta porte pour l'amour de Dieu.'

'Under the moonlight, my friend Pierrot. Lend me your pen, so I could write a word. My candle is dead, I've no more light. Open your door for me, for the love of God.' - a common French lullaby.

"Rien n'est un certain ... rien, mais vous."

"Nothing is certain…nothing, except you."