Disclaimer: Everything in the Twilight universe belongs to Stephenie Meyer. Chris Carter is the creator of the X-files.

AN: Here is the first epilogue which has a bit of closure for the Cullens. I actually wrote big chunks of this way back on May 1 (checked the creation date on my file).

I borrowed an idea from ebhg (surprise, surprise!) – it's the interchange about aliens and Chicago. It comes from her fic "Getting to Know the Cullen Coven."

Speaking of ebhg, she beta'ed and rearranged the words in some sentences so that someone else might be able to figure out what I meant!

The Cold War has been nominated for a Sparkle Award for Best Post-Breaking Dawn. Voting has already begun and will continue through July 31. Most Unwanted is also nominated for Best One-Shot and Best Collaboration. You can find instructions on voting on my profile.

The Cold War made it to the second and final round at the Indie Twific Awards for:
Best Canon WIP and Best Original Character WIP.
Justine Lark also has two fics in the last round: "Sunshine State" for Best Romantic Moment and "Our Little Secret" for Best Use of Comedy. EliseShaw has "A Coming of Age" going head to head with me in Best Canon WIP and is also up for Best Secondary Storyline. Katmom's Guarding Edward is up for Best AU and Most Original Storyline. Vote for somebody, guys!

Round two voting is July 22-29! (Ends today!) You can find instructions on voting on my profile.

28. The Cullens' epilogue

These last two weeks had been filled with tension, discussion, and arguments about our next steps. Moving into a vacation house in Maine had at least provided some diversion from the endless speculation, although I was sorely missing my daughter as she had chosen to spend the summer with Jake in La Push. We all knew the Volturi would not stop until they had what they wanted, and once they did, they would covet more. This was a fact we would all have to face sooner or later. Carlisle had informed the family about Sarah's private attack on Edward, and my desire to find her alone somewhere and rip her into small pieces had only been enhanced. Her fighting experience was undoubtedly greater than mine, but she didn't have my motivation. I had been practicing combat with Rosalie and Alice regularly; I needed the practice anyway. Since Aro's primary goal was stealing the love of my existence, I had more incentive to reflect than the rest of the family. I was also perfectly safe reflecting about strategy since my love wouldn't hear anything I didn't let him hear. I had no way of knowing, but I imagined that everyone was avoiding these thoughts to prevent Edward from additional humiliation.

This game of cat and mouse had been hard on us all; we had known the Volturi had plans when Joham had been killed and his daughters taken eight years ago. But the true beginning of the Cold War had come two years later; that was when we had truly felt like we were under siege. We knew the worst was yet to come; Aro's cease-fire seemed more trick than truth. I had turned those early events over and over in my mind in the last few weeks. I needed to be able to understand how we had arrived where we were. I needed to understand what motivated the Volturi. I needed to understand how their actions had affected my family.

Edward had successfully identified the threat Josh and Randall had posed. Once he had proved to us that the threat was real, we had worked together to investigate and then to eliminate the threat. We had taken a proactive stance to protect ourselves, and we had succeeded.

A proactive stance. Not just hiding or responding.

Our family needed to fight back, to regain what was ours. And we had no reason to fear annoying the Volturi – we'd already hit rock bottom on that account.

How long had I been sitting in our bedroom, frozen in thought? I looked out the window, and saw the beautiful reds and oranges of a sunset through clouds. The house stood on a hill, allowing us to see over the trees that bordered the property to the west. I had been here about two hours, remembering and thinking. Edward had been playing or composing this entire time, relishing the quiet with the rest of the family out. It was time to put my ideas into action. Action. I liked the sound of that. Emmett was rubbing off on me.

I stood and wandered downstairs and into the room with Edward's keyboard. The piano would be in storage until we chose a permanent (for us) place to settle. He knew I was there, but didn't pause in his playing. He had stopped composing about 17 minutes earlier, I thought. I hadn't been actively paying attention with my thoughts so full, but I could think back and reconstruct what had been in the background. He was playing Beethoven's Appassionata now. I leaned against the doorframe and waited as he completed the third movement. He finished the presto, and turned on the bench to smile at me. His hair appeared artfully disarranged, a result of his absorption in the music.

"You haven't played Beethoven in a while," I said, a smile forming on my face. He was so beautiful. I let my gaze wander over his shoulders and down to his elegant hands, then back up to his crooked grin.

"I haven't composed in a bit, either. Events of this week seem to be bringing out my passionate side." His smile upgraded from happiness to see me to something a bit more, well, wicked.

Action could wait a few hours.

oOoOoOoOoOo

"So, Edward, I was thinking I wanted to meet with you and Alice for a game," I told him. I lay on my stomach on our bed, my head turned away from him.

"What kind of game," he asked lazily, rubbing circles on my back. He planted a kiss on the back of my neck.

"What if."

He stiffened.

"It's not what you think."

"Bella, I don't like this," he said. I could tell he was either clenching his jaw or gritting his teeth.

"Trust me. You will." I rolled over and looked at him. He looked over my head, jaw tight, and I reached up and pulled his head toward mine so I could look him in the eye. "You do trust, me, love."

His look softened. "I do."

We were dressed in seconds, just as the front door banged open.

"Yes, it's Alice," he said with a smirk. "And Jasper, of course."

"I love this! Bella, this is perfect!" came Alice's musical soprano. We descended the stairs and joined Alice and Jasper in the living room.

"I guess we don't need to play," I laughed as Edward and I raced down the stairs.

"No, we do! I'm only getting flashes."

Edward looked from me to Alice, slightly puzzled. Jasper looked at all of us with concern.

"You realize that none of you are making sense?" he asked.

"Let's sit," I said. Once we were all ensconced on our sofas, I concentrated. I peeled back my shield, and chose the course of action I thought our family should take next – I wanted Edward to know my choice so he could see the decision which sparked whatever vision Alice might get. Alice's eyes glazed briefly, and then she burst out in laughter. Edward's eyes widened and a smile broke out.

"This is going to work beautifully," she enthused.

"Bella, you are amazing," said Edward, his voice full of wonder.

"So, it works?" I asked. "I know what I'm planning, but I can't see the visions with you two."

"Will someone please let me know what's going on?" asked Jasper. He wasn't annoyed; we were too happy for him to dredge up any bad feelings.

"Bella has a plan," said Edward happily.

"And it's going to work," said Alice.


I sat in my chair and spun around, lifting my feet off the ground. I popped a pistachio. I looked at the clock. I could have been working on a few leads which had come in late yesterday: a sighting of Bigfoot in Wolfeboro, New Hampshire, of all places; a series of seemingly unrelated disappearances in Wyoming; an attack of killer bees in Kansas. I sharpened a pencil and tossed it twice. Both times it fell back to the desk, the second time breaking off the newly-sharpened lead.

I couldn't shake off the feeling that something significant would happen today.

I had offered to join the anti-terrorist team which was investigating the destruction of the Paris flight from two weeks before, but I had been told off in veiled but insulting terms. My partner had been commandeered, however. She was helping in body identification.

My cell phone rang, and I popped it open and answered. "Hedry, any new developments?"

"I beg your pardon?" asked a smooth, baritone male voice.

"Oh, sorry, I thought you were someone else." No one ever called my cell phone except for my partner.

"Am I speaking with Special Agent Renard?"

"Yes," I answered, intrigued but disturbed. This was my personal cell phone.

"I have a proposition for you."

"Oh?"

"Yes. I know that you want to believe, and I'm going to arrange for you to witness incontrovertible evidence."

"What's the catch?" I asked skeptically.

"The catch is that you will not be able to share this with anyone, not even your partner."

"And what do you want in return?" I asked.

"You have a file. If you destroy the file and all copies, we'll be even."

"Which file?"

"You have it listed under 'C,' for 'Cullens.'"

"You want me to destroy it first, or after?"

"After is fine. I trust you."

"How will we meet?"

"The mail will be delivered to your office in about eight minutes. There is an envelope with instructions. We'll be waiting."

The line clicked dead. I looked at my call log, but unbelievably there was no entry in my phone. Whoever it was had either hacked my phone or was using some protocol that I didn't know existed.

I pulled the file, checking the clock on the wall. Six more minutes until the mail arrived, if the caller was to be believed. I remembered the file well. It had been started by my predecessor. There had been no theory with the file, just newspaper clippings and a map from the mid first decade about people going missing in the Washington/Oregon area.

I had been intrigued by the file, but there were always other, more urgent cases to pursue. Then, one day six years ago, I had received a manila envelope. It wasn't addressed to me, but someone else in the agency had apparently read it and decided it was appropriate for my division. The information suggested a Dr. Carlisle Cullen was responsible for the missing persons in the Washington/Oregon area. Other information concerned the teenagers he had adopted for his own nefarious purposes. The information hinted at cult-like behavior and possible human sacrifice. He was a trained surgeon, capable of hiding his crimes. We had found his new location easily – a surgeon named Carlisle Cullen with multiple adopted children isn't impossible to find – but he and his family had disappeared when we arrived. He never resurfaced, and interviews with his acquaintances suggested he was completely aboveboard. But he had disappeared.

I heard the brush of the mail falling into the box on my office door, and I gloved up and went to the hall to retrieve it. There was, in fact, a letter-size envelope. The lack of postage or return address suggested someone had dropped it in the interdepartmental mail. They had been in the Hoover building.

I opened the envelope and pulled out a single sheet of white paper. It had been printed by laser printer.

"Meet at 3:30 p.m. today, Rock Creek Park. You must come alone. You must tell no one. Find a bench and sit on it. We will find you. Bring a set of zener cards. Write any question you like on the back of this page. We will answer it."

My eyebrows had shot up. Hedry wouldn't have believed this even if I told her. I pulled open my third desk drawer and grabbed my zener deck. Now I just had to think of a question. I thought of several possibilities, but discarded them all. Anyone with access to a supercomputer could find just about any information in a short time. I needed proof. I had yearned for it since I was a teenager. I needed the proof, not necessarily to share with anyone else, but to prevent myself from losing all hope. I needed to know there was something bigger than this mundane existence.

I glanced at the newspaper discarded on the corner of my desk, and the question popped into my mind. Tomorrow was the home opener for the Nationals. They would play the Pirates – I even had a ticket. I didn't know if this was cheating, but I wrote my question, folded the paper, and put it back into the envelope and sealed it.

At 3:25 p.m., I walked into Rock Creek Park clutching the manila folder from the "C" drawer. I was taking a leap of faith – I would give them the file directly. The other envelope, the one with my question, was in my inside jacket pocket. The skies were threatening, and I hoped that this meeting, whatever it was, didn't get rained out. I wandered aimlessly until I found a bench a few meters off the path in a grassy open area. At exactly 3:30, my cell phone beeped. A young man with red-brown hair and wearing a jogging suit approached the bench and put his foot on the edge to tie his shoe. I looked away from him, not daring to hope this was it. Other joggers and walkers were roaming the park.

"Agent Renard," said the young man. "Are you ready?"

I wondered if I could be thrown out of the FBI for what I was about to do. I wordlessly handed him the manila folder. He glanced at it and nodded at me. "Your job will be safe. There are no other records of this information at the FBI. No computer logs. No copies."

"I don't believe so," I responded.

"I'm telling you," he said patiently. "This is the last piece of evidence directing suspicion at the Cullens, except for what is in your head."

"May I ask if the Cullens are responsible for all the missing people?" I asked. I wanted to know if I was giving crazed mass murderers a free pass just to satisfy my cravings for the truth.

"You may ask. We did not kidnap or kill any of those people."

He'd said "we." "Do you know who did all of it?"

"We know, but unfortunately the perpetrators are beyond the law. Take out the deck, Agent Renard."

Apparently we were done discussing the missing persons cases. I pulled the deck out of my pants pocket. I took off my sunglasses so no reflections were possible. I shuffled the deck.

"I'll turn my back," he offered.

I glanced at the first card, hidden as well as I could hide it behind my hands. It could not have been visible to anyone but me. Three wavy lines.

"Three wavy lines," said the young man.

I slipped that card to the bottom and glanced at the next. A square.

"Square," he said.

I put that to the bottom of the deck, but paused. He sat quietly. "The next one?" I asked.

"You haven't looked at it yet," he responded. A chill ran up my back. I looked at the card.

"Cross," he said. We repeated this for the entire 25-card deck. He made no errors. This type of response was impossible.

"Not if you can read minds," he answered my unspoken thought.

Why are you here? I asked silently.

"We need the search to end. We did not kill those people. We want to be left alone, but we wanted you to have something in return for your complicity."

Do you all read minds?

"Just me. Others of us have different skills, but as you can imagine, we don't like to share our secrets. We just want to live our lives in peace."

Who are you?

"We're the Cullens. I can't tell you any more without exposing secrets I'm not permitted to share."

Are you aliens?

He chuckled. "Nope. Born in Chicago."

Will I ever hear from you again? I realized that I wanted to. I wanted to know more. I just wanted…to believe this was real.

"I'm told that you will need me one day, so I've brought you this. It will only work one time, so be sure you really need me. Call the number programmed in." He turned around and handed me a cell phone. "This is our leap of faith, Agent Renard." I realized with a start that his eyes were a soft golden color. I had never seen that eye color before on anyone.

"And the answer is 4-3, Nationals, but you'll find the full line score here." He handed me an envelope. When I looked up from the envelope, he was gone. I stood up and spun around, but there was no sign of him in any direction. The closest trees were over a hundred yards away. I would have thought I dreamed it all, but in my hands were the envelope and the cell phone.

The next day, I sat at the game with the line score in my hand. When the game ended, 4-3, Nationals, I felt the hope rising again. There was something out there, something bigger, something real.


I watched through the tinted window of Carlisle's car as the ceremony on the beach began. At nine in the morning, the sun was already very bright on this day in mid-June. There were at least a thousand people attending along with another two hundred personnel covering the ceremony. The buzz of their voices in my head was annoying, but tolerable. Jasper was much more uncomfortable than I. The emotion was heavy, from the excited planners to the frantic media to the grieving attendees.

"When does the moment come?" asked Jasper.

"Alice says it'll be near the end," I answered. The huge donation made by the Pacific Northwest Trust had given Alice the opportunity to suggest (through representatives) some aspects of the ceremony. I was scanning the crowd, attempting to find any grieving family members who may have needed more than the modest stipends the PNT had provided for them.

A group of interfaith leaders began the ceremony. Only the family members of the 228 people who had perished on Flight 2134 were permitted to attend. One father was numbly recalling the loss of his wife and young son on the flight; there had been a time in my life when I would have felt mild sympathy, but now I could fully imagine the loss of Bella and Renesmee from my life. Being a husband and a parent came with great joy and potentially great pain as well. His suppressed pain was like a twist in my gut. An entire family mourned the loss of one man: his parents, his wife, his three children. He had been a good man, if their memories were any indication. Another young man mourned the loss of his partner – they had been together since their teenage years.

Not everyone invited had chosen to attend the ceremony; Alice had insisted that PNT offer a travel stipend to all the family members. The refusals had been duly recorded; Alice wanted to do some sort of follow-up. I wondered how deep the pain ran in the absent family members if the ones present grieved so deeply.

Today's event was an attempt to provide closure for the families. Three months had passed, with enormous resources devoted to retrieving the wreckage and the bodies and investigating every possible aspect of the crime. Sarah had done an excellent job on the plane – the authorities were never going to trace the explosives. Conspirators would never be found. No one would ever be brought to justice. The mystery would never be solved. I hoped that, in the absence of justice, we could contribute something positive to the lives altered by the attack. I tried not to think of the closure that Jasper and I might gain from this.

The ceremony had progressed to where each family member was to open the box they had been given as they entered the beach area.

"Now," I told Jasper.

Each person opened a box and released a Monarch butterfly as Jasper unleashed his talent upon the crowd. A feeling of incredible peace descended on everyone. As the cloud of orange and black rose in the light ocean breeze, Jasper expertly crescendoed the emotions toward joy. The faces of the people were turned up toward the butterflies, and the tears and smiles were visible on most of the assembled. Jasper had not spared the media or the clergy, and I heard many cynical reporters gasping with the force of the emotion. The priest had crossed himself and was murmuring about a miracle of God. I could imagine Carlisle telling me that an angel of God could come in many forms, but I wondered if this was the first time the form had been vampires with so much blood on their hands.

AN2: I hope you liked it. Just think – everyone can call Carlisle "Carlisle" again! And Renesmee gets her name back, and they can all go back to being the Cullens. Josh's epilogue is up next and then this part of the story will be complete. Go vote in the contests!