Thank you again to everyone who voted in the first round of the Indies :) Second round voting is now open and will close on 29th July. Link's on my profile - I really hope you join in.

Congratulations to Orioncat who was the only one to spot the Bible quote in the last chapter. Impressive knowledge ;) Chocolate-chip-macademia-nut-cyber-cookies for you, then.

I'm kind of blue because my readership and review count was down for the last chapter - probably something to do with people being away for the summer but still. I kind of want to put this story on hiatus until the autumn, but I could never do that to you guys!

Thank you to Cullenista (invaluable) and Stephenie Meyer (kind of important, I guess :P) and all that, so without further ado, on to the chapter...

Forget-Me-Not

EPOV

3.00am, 8th August, Amiens

I hadn't slept a wink all night, but my adrenaline-fuelled energy showed no signs of waning. This was the day, the big day. This morning, before dawn, we would go over the top, for better or worse, although I didn't see how it could be better.

The majority of our regiment was sprawled out in the trench, talking quietly or enjoying a smoke. The uneasy tension settled thickly about us, no-one wanting to break the fragile peace of the morning. Darkness still covered the trench and would for a few more hours; our attack this morning was to completely catch the Germans off guard. Everybody knew we only had the element of surprise to preserve us before the enemy machine guns cut us down.

A murky fog had descended over No Man's Land some time around two thirty, and it didn't seem inclined to lift. That would make our offensive almost blind, but I knew it made no difference. It would only mean that we couldn't see the gunners as they took aim, and perhaps that was a good thing.

Emmett had insisted that we play cards, probably to distract us from the impending attack, but our hearts weren't in it. I stared blankly down at my hand, barely noticing what I had, before laying my cards down on the ground with a sigh. "Give it up, Emmett."

He frowned but collected up the cards and reshuffled them, shoving them into his grimy pocket. "Want a smoke?" he offered.

I considered for a moment; I'd never actually taken up the habit, but there seemed little point in refusing now. "Sure."

He handed me a cigarette and I propped it between my lips, leaning closer to light it with his. With it glowing softly like embers on a warm fire, I leaned back against the mud wall of the trench. "Thanks," I mumbled, and he nodded vaguely.

I took the rolled-up paper between my fingers and drew on it deeply, letting out a shaky breath. The acrid taste burnt the back of my throat but I welcomed the uncomfortable sensation, the bitter smoke curling from my mouth in a smoky haze.

We smoked in silence for several minutes, greedily pulling on the cigarettes until they burnt our fingers. I flicked my stub casually onto the ground, then only a minute later picked it up and slipped it in my pocket. As I did so, my fingers brushed against the paper that was folded there: a letter to Bella that I had penned the night before.

I pulled it out and examined it disinterestedly, seeing the way my handwriting sloped, curling around the familiar letters of Bella's name. I had printed the address hurriedly on an envelope and now I slipped the leaves inside, sealing it firmly and clutching it between my fingers.

I held it tightly for several minutes before loosening my grasp and standing up from the ground. "I want to make sure this gets to Bella," I told Emmett, who was leaning on his elbow, lounging on the ground. "I wouldn't want it to fall out of my pocket when we go over the top." He nodded as if he took that reason seriously. "I mean, it might get covered in mud or something," I went on, but he was no longer listening.

I took my leave and walked down the line of the trench, leaving Emmett's inert figure, and the security it brought, behind me. As I did so, I brushed my fingers over the paper of the letter, stroking it gently with an unsteady hand. I wished I could go with it, so I could be back in Bella's arms within mere weeks. I wished that I could see Bella right now.

I handed the letter over to my commander to be posted that night, and as I walked back I pulled the second page out of my pocket, the first draft of that letter I had written to Bella. I unfurled it and cast my eye over the script, the handwriting the same but the words completely different.

Dear Bella,

I'm afraid. I'm fucking terrified that some time I'll go on leave and you won't be there, or that one morning you'll wake up and I'll be gone. How am I supposed to deal with that, Bella? How am I supposed to go on –

I stopped reading and scrunched the page up into a ball, disgusted with myself. I knew I could never send Bella such a letter, and yet I had written it anyway, in a fit of desperation. To send it, to even think it was cowardly, and I would do anything rather than shame Bella and my family. They deserved better; they deserved a son or brother or fiancé who would be strong for them. I would do that, no matter what it cost me.

I sat down again next to Emmett and took up his matches, striking one and gazing at it contemplatively. Then, slowly and deliberately, I smoothed out the unsent letter and held it lightly between my thumb and forefinger, stroking the tongue of the flame along the edge of the page. As the paper caught, I dropped it to the ground and blew out the match, watching as the flame devoured the treacherous words, erasing them as if they had never existed. When all that was left was ashes, I scattered them to the wind and banished it from my mind once and for all.

BPOV

11th August 1918

I stood before the sink, looking out over the garden through the kitchen window. The water was grey and cold by now, but I sank my hands back in regardless, scrubbing at the sheet swirling in the water. My fingers were red and wrinkled by the prolonged submersion, but that thought didn't cross my mind as I rubbed away at the fabric.

Outside, the day was warm and bright, the sun not yet having reached its midday point. Although it was not yet ten o'clock, I had been at work for several hours, washing and wringing out clothes and bed linen, then hanging them on the line in the yard. It was dull, time-consuming work, but nothing compared to what I was used to in the hospital. In fact, this was positively restful in comparison.

My hands fell idle as I stared out of the window, admiring the way the sun played off the leaves and few flowers that my father had had the foresight to plant in the spring. The apple tree stood proudly in the centre, its branches extending over the surrounding grass, casting it in delicate patterns of dappled shade. I had always loved that apple tree, as my mother had before me. She had planted it when she first married my father and moved to this house, almost twenty-one years ago. It had grown and changed a lot since then, of course, but it still always made me think of her.

I smiled as my gaze fell on it, then turned back to the washing, the corners of my mouth still lifted. I scrubbed away at the sheet for a few minutes longer, working the brush furiously and once catching my knuckle, making it bleed a little. Eventually I decided that it was sufficiently clean, and pulled it from the water, twisting it firmly between my hands to squeeze out the water.

I added it to the basket of damp linen sitting at my feet, then shifted it onto my hip and walked out of the backdoor and into the garden where the mangle was set up. I swiftly began running the cloth through it, turning the stiff handle with detached efficiency. One load of washing already fluttered on the line further down the garden, and it would not be long before this one joined it. I was much too practised to dawdle over this mundane task.

I finished the basketful in record time and pegged it on the line, my mind somewhere else entirely. In my head, I was back in Corbie, talking to a homesick soldier or perhaps sneaking off to see Edward. I happily occupied myself with these thoughts for some time before I realised that my basket was empty and the task was done.

I strolled back inside and stowed the basket, rolling my sleeves up further to clean the counter and sink. I was just settling into the job when I heard a knock on the door, swiftly followed by an excited squeal. "Bella!"

I rolled my eyes, a smile creeping onto my face. "Come in, Alice!" I called back.

The door clicked open and closed and a beaming Alice skipped into the kitchen. "Good morning, Bella!" she chimed happily, sitting down at the table. "What are you doing?"

"I'm digging a tunnel to Africa, Alice. What does it look like I'm doing?"

Unperturbed by my teasing, she continued, "Would you like to do something else?"

I set down my rag and turned to face her, leaning against the counter as I asked, "What did you have in mind?"

"Oh, nothing in particular," she replied, shrugging casually, but I could see her excitement bubbling under the surface.

"What is it, Alice?"

She let out a high laugh in response and pulled out a piece of paper from her pocket, waving it wildly in the air. "I got another letter from Jasper, Bella!"

"Good," I responded but hesitated, sensing that there was something more. "And?"

She took a deep breath and pursed her lips together before blurting out, "He's got leave in six weeks!"

She leapt up from her chair and threw herself towards me, and I only just managed to catch her before she pushed the pair of us back into the sink. "That's wonderful, Alice!" I told her, genuinely happy that she would get to see him so soon.

"I know!" she sighed, letting go of me and walking back to the table, pulling me along with her. We both sat down and I smiled as I looked at her face, glowing with joy.

"Oh, Alice, he does make you happy, doesn't he?" I said fondly.

"So happy, Bella," she confessed.

"And you've told him you love him?"

She shrugged but looked me unabashedly in the eye. "I don't need to."

I floundered for a moment but pressed on, "Does he love you?"

"Of course," she replied confidently.

"Yet he hasn't said it?" I pushed hesitantly.

She rolled her eyes and stretched across the table to take my hand. "He doesn't need to, Bella. I just know. This is bigger than words."

"Alright," I said slowly, searching her face for any signs of misgiving. "If you're happy –"

"Silly Bella!" she laughed, squeezing my hand gently. "Of course I'm happy! Jasper is coming home!"

I smiled warmly at her and she beamed back, her countenance radiant and ecstatic. "How is Charlie this morning?" she asked, her smile seeming fixed on her face.

"A little better, actually," I replied with satisfaction. "He's still weak but definitely improving. Last time I peeked in at him, he was lost in a book."

"Can I go up?" Alice asked, and I nodded immediately.

"Of course. He'll be thrilled to see you."

I led the way out of the kitchen and up the stairs, and Alice tripped lithely along behind me. Her normal exuberance almost seemed to be bubbling over today, spilling into those she came into contact with. Whether happy or sad, Alice was always the extreme and couldn't help but infect those around her with her winning smile or heart-wrenching pout.

I knocked on the door to my father's room, and after a moment, a gruff, "Come in," sounded from behind it.

I pushed open the door and showed her inside, telling my father, "Alice is come to see you."

His face lit up in an instant and I bit my lip to contain my humour at his face; he looked so eager, like a little puppy getting a treat.

"How are you this morning, Charlie?" Alice sang, pulling up a chair and sitting down next to his bed. He was propped up against the headboard, pillows stuffed behind his back to support him, and I fluffed them up for him while he spoke to her.

"Not bad, Alice, not bad. I am glad to see you. Tell me, how is everything with you?"

I smiled to see that he looked better this morning, a little colour having returned to his cheeks. He had started to eat again, to my great relief, and I brought him up something at every mealtime. He still wasn't consuming food like he used to, but the improvement on just a few weeks ago was noticeable.

"Everything is magnificent, Charlie!" Alice replied and launched into an explanation at top speed. I decided to leave them to it, and quietly withdrew from the room, tiptoeing back down the stairs to the kitchen.

I tried to get back to my cleaning, but the sunshine outside was calling to me and I couldn't refuse it. Setting down my cloth and soapy bucket, I headed out into the garden, breathing deeply as the sunlight touched my face, feeling the bright morning air flow through me.

Looking around, I noticed that there were a couple of patches in the flowerbeds that looked decidedly worse for wear, and as my father had been in no state to tend them, the plants were wilting from neglect. I fetched his trowel and fork from the shed and knelt on the grass by the beds, weeding and pulling up the strays to give the flowers room to grow. It was peaceful work, the sun warm overhead and the trees swaying with the light breeze, and I soon fell into a calming rhythm.

I didn't stop pulling up the weeds until I heard Alice calling to me from inside. "Bella! Where are you?"

"In the garden, Alice!"

She came out onto the porch and laughed when she saw me, kneeling on the ground, a streak of dirt on my cheek where I had brushed a hair back. "There you are! I thought you'd run off."

"No, I'm still here," I smiled back. "Do you want to help me?"

She wrinkled her nose delicately before taking a few more cautious steps towards me. "Gardening? Well, it's not really my thing, but I suppose –"

I chuckled under my breath but turned my head so she wouldn't see. "That's alright, Alice, you don't have to help."

"Well, isn't there something I can do that wouldn't get me all – dirty?" She gestured disdainfully at my blouse and skirt, grass-stained and brushed with earth.

I thought for a moment, then pointed at the old green watering can resting by the flowerpots. "You could fill that up and give the flowers a water. It's been so dry recently."

"Oh, I'd like to do that!" she exclaimed enthusiastically, and I laughed at how much she resembled a small child as she picked up the big watering can and ran off to fill it. I remembered how I used to do the same job when I was little, following my mother round the garden when she'd been planting and dousing the plants, and usually myself, with water.

Alice returned a few minutes later brandishing the large watering can, from which I could now hear water slopping, and began pouring it on the flowerbeds. She edged her way around the garden while I finished up on the bed I was working on, standing up when I was done and stretching out my limbs.

"Have you nearly done it all, Alice?" I asked, but she didn't answer so I walked over to see what she was up to.

She was bent over a bush, staring avidly at a single leaf, her tongue peeking out of her mouth as she slowly reached her finger towards it. "Alice?" I repeated, but she completely ignored me. I leant closer to see what she was looking at, and my eyes fell on a caterpillar crawling slowly across a large leaf. Alice seemed to be trying to coax it onto her finger, urging it on with encouraging noises.

Rolling my eyes, I picked up the watering can from by her feet and began doing the last bit, hoping that soon I could go in and make Charlie's lunch. Suddenly, however, Alice shouted, "Bella!" and I spun to see her barrelling towards me, her hand outstretched. "Get it off me!" she shrieked, waving her hand around violently, and when I looked closer I saw that she had the caterpillar resting on her fingertip.

Trying not to laugh, I caught her hand and started to remove the offending creature, but just at that moment, it crawled up onto her wrist and she let out a loud squeal, thrashing wildly in apparent panic. In doing so, she knocked the watering can, which was resting precariously in my arms, into the air and I felt the cold water hit my skirt, a sharp contrast to the warm air temperature.

I gasped, stilling my movements, and that was when I saw that Alice, too, had been caught by the splash. Her blouse was soaked and I just gaped at her for a moment, trying to hold back laughter as her expression moved from shock to realisation. We just stared at each other for a few moments, before a giggle escaped me at the look on her face.

At first she appeared annoyed at my reaction, but then her frown lifted and she smiled at me as other giggles followed the first one. She even joined in with my laughter a little, attempting to wring out her sopping clothing. Drenched Alice was so comical that I couldn't help but break out into giggles again each time I caught sight of her, but she was reluctant to stay and be the source of my mirth, brushing me off impatiently.

"Bella, I'm soaking!" she protested when I tried to mop at her with my handkerchief, which had absolutely no effect. "I need to go home and change."

I nodded in agreement, surrendering the drying effort that had only succeeded in making my handkerchief heavy with water as well, and let her go. Just as she was about to leave, though, she turned and said, "Bella, Mother wanted me to invite you to lunch today. You will come, won't you?"

"Thank you, Alice," I replied. "I would, but my father –"

"Oh, Mother said not to worry about him," she replied airily, dismissing my protests with a wave of the hand. "She'll bring him something over when we're done. Please, Bella?" she begged, unleashing her most persuasive pout on me and, of course, I caved.

"Alright," I sighed. "I'll just change my skirt and come right over. Thank your mother for me, won't you?"

She smiled victoriously and walked away, dripping a little as she passed through the house. I shook my head, amused and annoyed that she could manipulate me so easily, but my feelings settled on fondness as I watched her go.

Looking down at myself, I remembered the large wet patch spreading over the front of my skirt, and quickly stowed the watering can before running up the stairs to change. It didn't take me long to be ready to leave again; I just popped my head around my father's door to tell him where I was going. He waved me off cheerily enough, so I grabbed my hat and took off out of the door.

I walked briskly down the street, the sun shining brightly overhead and warming me thoroughly; I fervently wished that decorum did not dictate that women should always keep their shoulders sheltered from the sunlight in public. It was a beautiful day, I reflected, the mottled shade from the trees casting the street in dancing patterns of dazzling light. A child ran past me, his frazzled mother in tow, and I stifled a smile as the little boy yelled for her to keep up.

All my best memories, from a very early age, featured Edward and myself, playing in the town and surrounding fields. The meadow was our refuge, and yet since I had come back from Corbie I had not yet visited it. Perhaps I didn't want to do it alone; perhaps I just had not found the time.

EPOV

THREE DAYS EARLIER

4.20am, 8th August 1918, Amiens

A shout echoed over the assembled men in the trench and we all shuffled forwards, heavy with what we were about to do. I was pushed in between Emmett and Elliot, and I keenly missed the reassuring presence of Ben at my side.

"See you in Berlin!" Emmett joked feebly, and I cracked a weak smile in return.

Steeling myself, I put one hand on the splintered ladder and braced my foot on the bottom rung. "This is it, then," I muttered. "Here we go, boys!"

The seconds before the commander ordered us over the top seemed to last years, my thundering heart drowning out all other noise. The silence rang in my ears for one endless moment until, as if under water, I saw the commander's mouth move as he bellowed the order, and felt my feet start to carry me up the ladder and over the top. I was aware only of Emmett next to me, the others from our regiment following behind us, new strength propelling my legs forward through No Man's Land.

Then the defensive fire began and bullets sprayed around us, shells dropping on the body of men as we ran. I squinted through the dense fog and imagined I could see the German line of barbed wire ahead of me, over four hundred yards away. Taking a deep breath of the misty morning air, I ducked my head into the sea of bullets and I ran.

BPOV

11th August 1918

I reached the door of the Masens' house and tapped, but there was no answer. I knocked harder, but still no-one came. Wondering if they might all be in the garden and so unable to hear me, I pushed open the door and walked into the hallway, blinking rapidly to adjust my eyes to the difference in light levels.

Ridding myself of my hat, I walked further into the house, calling softly, "Mrs Masen? Alice? It's Bella."

When I still got no reply, I became confused, thinking that I might have misunderstood the invitation. I walked through the familiar halls to the front room and, on pushing open the door, was greeted with the sight of all three of the present Masens before me.

"I'm sorry to barge in like this," I began to apologise, but when I looked closer I saw that something was wrong. Mrs Masen was on her knees on the floor, her face in her hands, and Mr Masen had his back to me, staring at the far wall instead.

Alice stood in the middle of the room, tears streaming down her face, and instinctively I moved towards her. "Alice! What's wrong?" I asked, full of concern for my friends.

She said nothing; not one of them was making a sound. By now, I was seriously worried, my mind racing as I tried to work out what was the cause of their upset. "What's happened?" I pressed anxiously, scanning those present for injuries or illnesses.

Alice was the first to move, holding out her hand to me and whispering, "Bella."

I looked at her hand, not understanding until I saw that she clutched a piece of yellow paper in it. A telegram. My heart flew into overdrive and my palms grew sweaty, fear surging through me. "Alice, what is that?" I asked, although I thought I already knew. A fresh wave of tears coursed down her cheeks, and my blood turned to ice. "Not Jasper?"

Her gaze met mine for the first time, and she looked older than I'd ever seen her before, the grey eyes brimming with unshed tears. In that moment, I knew more of her than I'd ever known, saw deeper into her soul than I'd ever had occasion to see before. In her eyes, which were so unlike her brother's in colour, I saw the same depth, the same emotion, the same love.

"Oh, Bella," she breathed.

My pulse threatening to spiral out of control, my breathing shallow and rapid, I stepped closer to her and took the paper from her trembling hand. I looked once more around the room, shocked by the image of pain before me, and unfurled the telegram in my hand, scanning it quickly. It read, in clipped, military shorthand:

URGENT TELEGRAM

Officially reported Private E. A. Masen of the 13th Battalion missing in action presumed dead 8th August 1918. Convey deepest sympathies and regret on behalf of U.S.A. in loss sustained by death of soldier.

Colonel Wright

I stared at the words for several minutes, not understanding the meaning of the clinical terms before me, and it wasn't until Alice took the telegram back from me that I realised my hand was trembling uncontrollably. "Bella?" she asked, looking at me with sympathy and concern, and it was then that I noticed that it was not just my hand but my whole body that was shaking.

"Edward –" I choked, my head starting to swim as my breathing sped still further, none of my limbs now responding to the commands from my brain. "Can't be –"

Alice held out her hand to me and I reached back to take it, but I misjudged the distance in my woozy state and staggered forward onto her. "Bella!" she cried and I felt a couple of pairs of hands take hold of me and begin to lead me to a chair, just as everything went black and I fell deeply into my mind.

Somewhere above me I could vaguely hear voices, cries and urgent commands, but I registered none of it. I swirled deeper and deeper into the blackness, void of all emotion and thought except for the consciousness that it didn't matter. Didn't matter if I lost myself to the oppressive darkness, allowed myself to be swallowed by the black.

The shroud of darkness, of artificial night settled over me and I let it, welcomed it even. In it, I could feel no pain, had no awareness of the outside world. In it, there was just me and the black nothingness that threatened to take me whole. With one more shallow breath, I was gone.

OK, I am afraid now. Really afraid. I love you guys, but I in no way trust you not to murder me in my sleep. If you must creep into my home and kill me, though, I ask that you at least stop to admire how clean the house is - I've been busting my arse dusting and hoovering for days. And amidst all that, I even found time to write!

Now, the thing is, I expect some of you will be really angry and storm off from this story huffing about how bad it is and how evil I am. That would make me sad. I ask you, please, to stick with this story to the end, which is nigh but not yet upon us. There is one proper chapter left and then an epilogue and I have worked and reworked it for hours, sending files back and forth to Cullenista. Please, please, please, please trust me and allow me to finish the story, and have a little faith. You've stayed thus far, and I appreciate it so much, but this is the course the story must follow and there is a reason for it. All I ask is that you stay and find out what that is. Oh, and please don't flame me or blacken my name around the proverbial streets of fanfiction. I really hope you come back next chapter.

Speaking of which, the next and final chapter is already written and just needs some touching up. It will therefore be posted within the next couple of days, because I couldn't leave you hanging longer than that. Hopefully it will give this story some kind of resolution.

Thanks for reading and don't forget to review (be gentle) and vote!

RosieWilde