A/N for 2020-04-12: A happy Easter to you all folks. As always, many, many thanks to Eeyorefan12 for her stellar beta work.

Happy reading!

~ Erin

Edward's hands were pressed together as if in prayer while he sat crouched in his chair, poised like a gargoyle guarding a mausoleum.

But he was guarding a mausoleum, he reminded himself, for wasn't this the very definition of one? A chamber for entombment above ground. A room for burial. A large tomb.

Hers.

He fingered the dark fabric of his trousers, a movement quite singular amidst the stillness that was his natural state. For one of his kind, reasons for moving were already rare, and were rarer still now that he was more alone than he could ever remember being in this life. There were others here; he could hear the occasional swish of movement somewhere nearby, even a faint hushed whisper or two. They would not approach him, though. His solitary state had been his own choice, made in an agony of sorrow and guilt, and no one who truly cared for him would disturb it—or him, in his grief.

And so, he fidgeted. The wedding band on his finger caught his eye and he felt himself removing it, feeling the weight of it in his hand, idly rolling it back and forth in his palm. There was no need to hide his unnatural stillness here, where no humans would see him, but he continued anyway. An unbidden memory surfaced from the Forks High School cafeteria, the brown-eyed new girl, her thoughts silent to him, as he engaged her in cryptic conversation. He had picked up the cap from her drink and had spun it between his fingers, attempting to make himself appear more human and less monstrous.

Slowly, he lifted his eyes to the surface beside him. The body that rested on it was more still than he was now.

Bella's body, he reminded himself.

When he'd asked her in that darkening basement if he could change her, Bella's 'No,' had sliced into his chest like a knife. He'd waited, losing precious seconds, and then minutes, begging her to let him change her, not to leave him, hoping for another answer. He'd waited in vain. The only movement from her had been involuntary and spasmodic as the seizures set in. Then he'd needed to move the baby to a safer place before he could tend to her mother. Bella's bleeding, initially delayed by the drugs, had begun again, her veins freshly rupturing with the profound strain on her body. Her breathing had become a series of tortured gasps, her lungs filling with fluid. He'd listened closely, knowing it wouldn't be much longer before her heart, too, began to fail.

He tore himself away from remembering past horrors. They were too painful. He focused instead on the lifeless but still precious body before him.

If he touched her, he knew her skin would feel as deathly cold as his.

But he didn't.

He didn't want to sully the memory of his last embrace of her warm flesh, when he had drawn her scent so deeply into his lungs, hoping it would last him forever. He wanted only to savor the last press of his lips to hers and to remember the words he had spoken against her ear, knowing it was already too late, that she was too far gone to hear him. He had assured her that her children would be safe, had resworn his vow to watch over them always, had promised her that he would always love her, and honor her, forever and ever.

And then, with whispered pleas for her forgiveness and apologies and self-recrimination for his own weakness, he had sunk his teeth into her neck and let the ambrosia of her blood fill his mouth.

It had been Carlisle and Esme who had arrived soon after, alerted by Alice's now-clear visions. Esme had taken charge of the baby while Edward's father helped him to keep Bella's heart beating strongly enough to carry his venom through her collapsing veins. It had felt like a losing battle, but they had persisted and somehow . . . somehow, her heart had continued to beat.

And only then had Edward truly realized the gravity of his actions.

"She didn't want this," he'd choked out to his father. He had looked down at Bella's unconscious face and ached to take her in his arms, but instead he'd raised his hands and gripped his hair, almost tight enough to tear it out, to keep himself from doing so. He hadn't the right to touch her in that moment.

"I asked her if I could change her, Carlisle. God, I begged her, and she said no."

Esme's shocked gasp wasn't for what Edward had done, but for Bella's answer. Carlisle's surprise had been unspoken, though just as clear. His father had looked first at the baby in his wife's arms, then at his distraught son, and finally, at Bella's swollen and bruised body, before resting his hand on Edward's shoulder.

"Her cognition would have been impaired. Surely, she would have been barely conscious by then. She couldn't have been thinking clearly, Edward."

But his father's words had given him no comfort. He could only think of how he'd betrayed Bella.

"She said no," he had whispered.

That had been almost three days ago.

Like Bella, the Cullens' home was now clean and devoid of all but a suggestion of living, human scents. A very small part of him spared a thought for how much his family cared for them and understood that they had done their best to make this transition easier for his mate. They had meticulously scrubbed away the odours that would tempt her most in her newborn state.

But most of him was terrified there would be no transition and that he'd done something wrong, or worse, that he'd been too late.

Alice couldn't see Bella's future at all. And she couldn't just not see her, she could only see blackness when she searched for Bella. Not the blank that she saw with the wolves, but pure blackness.

Then there was the silence. The nearly three days of Bella so still and unmoving. A transformation unlike any he or Carlisle had ever witnessed.

Something was wrong, despite all that his family members tried to tell him.

"The venom will work," Carlisle had said. "It is working." He'd gestured to Bella's body, visibly changing as they watched. But his father's thoughts had been muddied by the slightest of doubts, and this was enough to obscure all the hope Edward needed to hear from his sire.

She should be screaming and writhing, or begging. Or something. Anything.

He closed his eyes and tried to smother the maelstrom of feelings that wanted to consume him.

She was changing. The pearly gleam that her skin gave in response to the room's diffuse light was testament to that. But he had waited so long . . . too long. By the time he performed his selfishly impulsive act, Bella's body and brain were already starved of oxygen. What if the damage to her mind had already been too much?

And even if it hadn't, she'd said no. She hadn't wanted this.

He closed his eyes as another wave of remorse washed over him. Since that day, he'd barely touched the baby—his daughter, he corrected himself. He was her father in all the ways that mattered, and he would need to be that in every possible way going forward. He would be a father to all of the children, he reminded himself. With begrudging admiration, he acknowledged how Bella had unknowingly bound him to life when she had extracted his promise to watch over her children. If she did not survive this, he would not be able to follow her into death.

And his youngest child might never know her mother. His gut tightened at the thought.

"Please, no," he whispered.

He just couldn't let Bella go. That's what it had come down to. She'd said no, and he'd refused to accept it. His very body had revolted against what he'd tried to make his mind do. He couldn't watch her die. He couldn't bear to lose her.

So now he waited.

He made himself think of the children. They were all with Carlisle and Esme, safely away in Alaska.

It had been Rose who'd called the Denali's, explaining that there were now three young children who had lost their mother to this life. The parallel to the Denalis' own loss had been enough to thaw their frosty relations, at least temporarily, and to let Carlisle and Esme bring Meredith, Josh, and the baby to be kept safe there. Irina had taken Grant away to the Cullens' house in Alaska. While he'd learned remarkable control in the months since his arrival, they wouldn't risk the children's safety.

Esme had already texted several times with updates and pictures. Edward replied as he could, when his mind was not throttled with grief and fear.

Josh and Meredith were missing him.

He was missing them.

And he might have just destroyed his childrens' mother in his most reckless act yet.

The last unbroken pieces of his heart had cracked when he'd lied to his children.

"Mama's sick," Edward had told Josh.

"Sick?" Josh had repeated.

"How sick?" Meredith had asked, looking up from touching her baby sister's hand. Her thoughts sprang to her father—and his death.

"She's going to be okay," Edward had lied again. "But it's going to take a long time, and she's so sick that she can't be around people, because she might . . . make them sick too."

"Sick like before, when she was in the hospital?" Meredith had asked, relieved thoughts showing Edward her few memories of Bella's stay in the hospital after Josh's birth.

Hearing Bella's voice in Meredith's mind had made his head reel, feelings gnawing at his gut. "Yes, something like that," he had managed to say quietly.

He had been grateful when Jasper, close by, had subtly calmed him and everyone else in the room.

Giving the other news to them had been harder. "But, because she's not well, I need to stay and take care of her for now."

"But who will take care of us?" Meredith had asked. Her lip had begun to tremble, despite Jasper's presence. "You're our dad now."

It was a truly human reaction, having his throat clench in on itself. He had pretended to clear it, giving himself a moment to respond. "I am, and nothing is going to change that. But you're going to go visit our cousins in Alaska for a little while, while I start helping Mama. Then we'll be together."

Meredith had relaxed a little, her small shoulders easing, but Josh had kept staring, eyes set squarely on Edward's chest. His thoughts had been jumbled with alarm and panic.

"Just for a while, Josh," Edward had said, kneeling down to try and catch his boy's eyes. He hadn't want to overwhelm him, but he wanted his son—and he had paused mentally, absorbing the production of this word. Yes. He had wanted his son to know this was only a temporary parting.

"I'll be with you soon. I just want to make sure Mama is okay. I want to make sure our family knows how to take care of her before I leave them to do that. I know they already know how to take care of you." He'd tried to smile in reassurance.

Josh's silent near-words might as well have been thumped into his chest: No, they don't.

"They do," he had told Josh. "And you're getting better at telling them what you need."

Josh had begun to cry, shaking his head. Meredith had barely been persuaded to let go of Edward, though she bravely held back her tears. Josh had spurned Edward's farewell hug, pivoting to follow Carlisle to the door. Edward had remained on the floor, arms partially extended, mildly stunned by this refusal. As the small party began heading out to the car, though, Josh had run back, throwing himself into Edward's arms for a fierce hug and then turning and running back to Esme and Carlisle.

The baby, as yet unnamed, had only yawned in Esme's arms as Edward approached and traced a finger over her wispy curls before gently kissing her forehead. He looked up to see Esme smiling softly at him, her thoughts hopeful and encouraging. Although she hadn't voiced it aloud, he knew she strongly believed Bella would not have refused to be changed if it meant leaving her children behind. How he wished he could have her faith.

A different sound in the room brought him back to himself.

Bella's heart was making its final thundering gallop to an ultimate silence, but still she didn't move. The remaining members of his family were gathering outside in the hall, ready to come to his aid if required.

Minutes went by. Still, no movement.

He looked down at his hands, one of them still holding his wedding band. He knew he should put it back on now, before Bella woke up . . . if she woke up. Newborns generally came to awareness gradually, he knew from both experience and observation, but agitation usually followed. He expected that Bella would be no different; she hadn't expected to wake up in this state, after all, his guilty conscience reminded him.

But the ring was suddenly ripped from his grip, smacking up against the door, along with all other loose objects in the room, before everything crashed to the floor.

Bella was off the bed, crouched against the far wall, a growling, feral hiss coming from her throat. Her narrowed eyes scanned the space, but otherwise she was still. Waiting. Watching him.

"Bella?" Edward asked, not moving. He'd been thrown off his chair and backward against the edge of the doorframe. If he moved, he knew he'd loosen the splinters by his shoulders, and his instincts told him he needed to remain perfectly still.

But she was alive. Bella was alive—moving, yes, terrified, yes—but alive!

If he had a heart, it would have sounded like hers had moments before.

His rational self began to take precedence over his more emotive one, seeing how utterly terrified his wife was. Just from his peripheral vision, he saw that the room was in shambles, the glass in the windows shattered, objects displaced, his phone lying on the floor. What had happened?

His family's thoughts from outside the room were loud—confused and concerned. Alice was seeing a vision of the devastation in the room. Only Jasper's thoughts cut through their chatter: She's terrified, Be careful.

His throat felt suddenly dry with trepidation. Was she really alright? He struggled to keep the emotion out of his voice when he finally spoke. "It's me, Bella. You're like us now. It's going to take you some time to get used to this. It can be very . . . disorienting at first."

One of her hands went to her abdomen. "Where's the baby?" she asked, voice bright and clear. It was her voice, but purer.

His chest felt like it was going to explode with relief and joy. She was awake. She remembered. She was alright—

Be careful, Jasper warned silently.

"She's with Esme and Carlisle, as are Josh and Meredith. They're all safe and well." He considered picking up the phone and trying to show her pictures, but decided against it. With however she'd managed to do . . . whatever she'd done, he knew she didn't have herself under control. Better to keep the stimulus minimal.

She was suddenly standing. "Where?"

"In Alaska. They're staying with the Denali's. Just to make sure they're well-protected." He remained exactly where he was, partly to keep her calm, but mostly because he was transfixed with the shock of his wife, so seemingly well in front of him.

"And Victoria?" She asked. There was a tremble in her voice.

He breathed out before answering. "Not yet."

Bella's face twisted in pain and her fists clenched as she grimaced at the floor, shaking her head.

"Bella?" he asked, trying to catch her eyes. This was one good thing he could offer her.

She looked at him.

"We know where she is." They didn't understand entirely why, or how, but Alice could see Victoria and what remained of her meager army. Despite how spotty her visions had been before, they were now crystal clear and they knew almost exactly how to find and destroy her. They had only delayed this long to support Edward and Bella through her change. Emmett, especially, had been chomping at the bit.

"And my Dad?" she asked.

"Your Dad?" he asked, his heart dropping. Didn't she remember? Charlie was dead for all they knew.

"Didn't you see him? She changed him." Bella said, her face full of mixed feelings again—but her memory seemed sound. "She tried to make him attack me, but he wouldn't. He ran."

Down the hall, Alice gasped. Edward could see her sift through spotty images of Charlie running in the woods, ones that she had dismissed before as being memories from Victoria. She was searching now, trying to place where he might be.

He felt a surge of hope, suddenly comprehending why Victoria might have left Bella unguarded. "Most of them scattered when we came, Bella. But if he ran, he's probably okay—"

"If she hasn't found him."

If.

Silence filled in the cracks of that very large possibility. Alice was looking, and silently promised to Edward that she would keep doing it, but couldn't see anything at the moment.

Edward studied Bella's form, which had been still since she started speaking. It was so startling to see her this way—like him.

Her attention appeared similarly captured, but not in admiration. "Why aren't you moving?" she demanded.

"I don't want to . . . alarm you," he said, slowly moving his back away from the door-frame. A shower of splinters and dust clattered over the floor.

"What happened after you—?" Her words cut off as she appeared suddenly beside him, the casual press of her hand crumbling more of the wood behind him. Gasping, she retracted it.

"It's alright," he assured her. It was. She was awake, and she was herself, but he couldn't understand the new and negative swell of feelings that were straining inside him. Still mindful of the newborn in front of him, he didn't dare plumb his own emotional depths. She needed him to stay calm.

"Bella," Jasper's voice called from just behind the door.

Bella looked at Edward quizzically. He'd already tried to hear her thoughts, and now attempted it again. Her mind remained completely silent.

"It's only Jasper. He'd like to come in," he explained.

Bella nodded.

When Jasper entered, she retreated quickly to the far back corner, crouched and growling.

Edward felt his brother's gift wash over himself, but only momentarily. The room rattled again with Bella's hissed, "NO!"

Through the dust and fragments of falling glass and drywall, Edward watched her. She looked terrified, but not of Jasper.

"What just happened?" she asked.

"It's alright," Edward said. "You seem to be . . . gifted." The description felt mildly disingenuous, given the destruction she'd caused so far, but if it could be harnessed, it would be a strength indeed.

Definitely gifted, Jasper thought at Edward. "Perhaps you'd feel better outside, Bella?" He looked towards the window, and then at Edward. Bella followed her brother-in-law's gaze in confusion.

"I'm not sure how you're doing what you're doing," Jasper said to her, "but I can guarantee you Esme would prefer to find her house standing when she returns. I recommend staying away from the rose bushes in the garden too."

Edward felt slightly unhinged, hearing the humorless chuckle escape from his own chest. "Good idea," he muttered. He wanted to go destroy something, and he wasn't sure yet why, but the juxtaposition of Jasper's practical concerns and the terror of the last days and whatever he was feeling—

"Perhaps you can show her the way, Edward?" Jasper suggested, turning and looking at him pointedly. You're about to explode, he told Edward silently. Best take it outside.

Was he? Edward wondered, but there was no time to really consider his confusing emotions. Bella was still eyeing Jasper suspiciously from the corner. Edward knew she could see his brother properly now, and he recalled his own first sight of Jasper. The entire family had all initially reacted the same way—with defensive crouches and hisses. The many bite marks that dotted his brother's body were warning enough of his superior predatory nature. It had taken them all some time to overcome their more instinctual reactions to him.

Bella edged towards the window, and Edward moved closer. "That's right. Just up—" But she was gone, a streak blurring out into the woods.

He followed without much thought except for a brief and surprising moment of annoyance. Her strength might give her an advantage in terms of a fight, but it was nothing to match his speed, and he caught up to her easily. He kept himself back by a few steps, letting her fly through the trees, leaping over the rain-swelled creeks that slithered through the forest. He wasn't sure if she was still frightened, but he knew she was probably unnerved and overwhelmed by thirst.

Edward tried to focus on the task at hand, wishing he could shake off the sense of unease that clung to him. Running normally calmed any agitations, and he waited for that relief now. Yet, instead of the sense of joy and calm he expected to feel, now that Bella was well, he felt a slackening of his very careful control—control that he hadn't even realized he'd been exerting over the last few days. Suddenly, all the hurt and betrayal—the rage—at what she'd done were loose at once. His vision burned with the intensity of feeling. His angry voice surprised him, echoing off the surrounding trees. "Bella, stop!"

She could have stopped immediately, as any of his kind could, but she didn't.

And just like that, it was as if she wasn't running towards something, but as if she was running from him—again.

Oh, hell, no you don't! Edward thought as he leapt into the air, aiming squarely to stop her.

DISCLAIMER: S. Meyer owns Twilight. No copyright infringement intended.