The Devil's Work

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Author's note: This was hard to write, and I expect, will be harder for you to read. Rated M for a reason.

Carlisle had hoped, with a bitter selfishness, that Bella would ask someone else.

Anyone, really, just not him.

Of course, he knew, he was partly to blame. They'd left. And left her with a pack of adolescent wolves at her doorstep. Worse, he knew what was there, where her friendships lay. Where she'd go. And he'd chosen to leave.

It was a suitable punishment, he mused, that he would be asked to destroy the harm he'd planted.

Killing the unborn.

The devil's work, his ancient mind supplied.

How suitably villainesque for a vampire.

He remembered, still, from the dim haze of his human life, the vitriol with which his own father had pursued the women who'd traded in such dark arts. Potions. Spells. Charms that barred a child. Beatings, whippings, and finally, burnings, were the progression of punishment he'd witnessed.

He knew, in his logical mind, the ultimate mercy such modern treatments offered. Suffering was almost ubiquitous for those born unwanted. He'd wished for such methods in his early years, but resented and recoiled from the wielding of them, when they had arrived.

The request, that it be done without sedation, was a true shock. That in itself was a rarity, when dealing with human beings, even Bella.

"Can you explain, why?" He'd asked, his mind running to a distorted sense of guilt, self-punishment for her making this choice.

"You'll need to ask her yourself," Ann had said, frowning a little that he'd asked. Surely he knew this was privileged?, she thought. His son's girlfriend. How awful. It must be straining his judgement some.

He had finished his rounds, and, finding a quiet moment in the day, had gone to visit her. He was pleased to see they checked his ID, despite his familiar face.

Esme had excused herself, and Carlisle sat beside Bella's bed. "You know, I think you are the only person I've actually ever visited in a hospital, Bella," he smiled. Letting this good moment settle, he added, "Ann said you'd asked if I could perform the procedure."

"I figured you'd say yes," she said, a little nervously, and he realised, she wasn't sure he would.

"Of course I will," he said, "but I'm concerned about the lack of sedation." He paused, waiting for her to respond. She simply nodded. "Can you explain why?"

She did, and he took a deep breath in. "Yes. I can see why." He thought for a moment. "Are you open to taking anything to manage the pain?"

"Sure, as long as it doesn't leave me feeling fuzzy."

That narrowed down his list of options considerably. "There are a few choices," he said, "but you will feel everything," he said, the warning in his voice clear, "and I will need you to be still." He let her consider this before he asked, "Do you think you can do that?"

"Can Edward be there?"

"Yes."

"Then yes, I can." She sounded so certain, but he harboured doubts, and agreed with an unspoken, and wary reluctance. He understood her reasons, but they didn't mitigate what would be a gruesome experience.

Charlie had fewer qualms about Bella's choice, mostly because she didn't mention any details about the procedure.

"You're sure?" he asked, "you don't want me to pick you up after? Or be there...outside, or something, waiting?"

"No Dad, Esme's going to take me home. Wait with me." She didn't say that Edward would be there too. Doing a poor job imitating a human. He was coming down with another something nasty gastrointestinally, for school purposes.

When the time came, she was eager to walk out of the room that had been her prison for three days, leaning ever so slightly on Edward's arm, towards a smaller procedural room.

"Edward," she said, sitting down on the bed. "I don't ever want to come back to this hospital again." He looked at her, and saw, mostly clearly, how serious she was.

"OK," he said, "you won't then." He and Carlisle exchanged meaningful looks, and Carlisle mentally unfolded a set of plans he'd tucked away, exploring the possibilities of treating her elsewhere. Yes, he thought, I think we can manage that.

Nodding, Edward closed the door, both their backs turned, as Bella slipped off her clothes, and pulled on the gown Carlisle had brought.

She laid back down, draping the paper cloth over legs. "I'm ready."

Edward sat beside her, his hand over hers, a talisman against her fears.

"You'll feel my touch, Bella," Carlisle said softly. His thoughts were louder, and in them Edward could hear the steady intonation of the prayer of St. Francis.

His fingers were cool, and raised no spectres.

"I'm putting in the speculum now," he said, his voice quiet in the small space. The distention of her flesh tugged a weal of memory, and she fought the urge to shove his hands away, her breathing coming faster. Carlisle stopped, feeling her tense, and said quietly, "deep breath in, and then out," waiting for her body to relax on the exhale before inserting it fully. She was gripping Edward's hand with her full force, her jaw tightly clenched. Carlisle looked at Edward, sparks of worry in his thoughts.

"Can you try to relax your muscles, Bella?" he asked, rubbing her fingers gently.

She nodded, and closed her eyes, muscles still taut. "Edward?"

"Yes," he answered, a soft squeeze on her hand.

"Can you hold me, please? Sit behind me?" Her voice was tremulous.

"Sure." He lifted her up with one arm, and slid behind her, not letting go. He circled his arms around her. "Better?"

"Yes," she choked out. "I'm ready, Carlisle."

Carlisle picked up the topical anesthetic, applying it, and then inserted a syringe. "Deep breath in, and then out." She hissed in a breath, but didn't move, feeling the sting. The cervix numbed as much as possible, Carlisle began the slow process of opening it. Bella tried, with focused determination, to breath through the pain.

Watching her fight through it, Edward had a taste of what fathers bore, watching their lovers labour. "It's OK to make noise," he whispered.

"How much?" she gritted out.

"As much as you need to," Carlisle answered. "This is what women feel when they're in labour, Bella."

She responded with a low growl that curled into a deep yell.

She could hear them encouraging her, trying to coax her through the pain. They didn't know, and she didn't tell them that it wasn't just the physical pain she was feeling, but the memory of what Jacob had done, coalescing in the instruments inside her, burning her afresh.

Edward wrapped his arms around her, stilling her when she couldn't herself. "You're safe," he breathed, "it'll be over soon." He was trying to keep his own self together, utterly powerless to help her to the other side of it.

It was the whirr of the vacuum that jarred her back into the room. It produced a soft, shooshing sound, and offered the least disturbing of the sensations.

Making his last sweep with the cannula, Carlisle set the pump aside, draping it with a cloth. The products within would need to be examined, to ensure the procedure was complete, but he was confident in his work. There would be no need to subject her to more.

The grief that weighed on him, was unexpected, and he let the mask of his professional face sit, as he rattled through the more routine words and postoperative care.

A course of antibiotics. No bathing or swimming. No sexual intercourse without a condom. She'd blushed at the intimation, but nodded, eyes averted. She refused the prescription painkillers.

Carlisle resisted the urge to throw them at her.

Instead, he and Edward stepped outside, and Esme stepped in to help Bella dress.

"Thank you," Edward said, watching Carlisle. He wasn't tired, but he was weary, his thoughts a slow chug. He tucked the canister under his arm. "I'll take this to the lab for verification," he said quietly, excusing himself.

Edward watched him go, hearing in the internal thrum of his mind, a deliberate recitation of the sermon on the mount.

"Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted," murmured Edward, echoing his father's thoughts, when Carlisle was out of earshot. "I hope you will be."