Edward watched Bella very slowly and gingerly slip a hand through the arm of a sweater. He grimaced slightly in anticipation, knowing the flex of her limb was too quick—

"Shit!"

It was the second shirt she'd tried to don. The first was in two pieces on the floor.

Tanya had brought them a very large basket of clothes for Bella. He knew, from their long acquaintance, that Tanya was somewhat familiar with newborns. He also knew, from his experience living with two sisters, that the supply of cast-offs in the Denali home was probably unending.

"It's literally been a day, love," he said softly to Bella, approaching her from behind, putting his hands on her shoulders. "You're doing so well."

Bella turned her head to acknowledge him with a small smile, but still sighed in frustration. "Being a vampire seemed a lot cooler when I thought it was going to be all living forever and super strength. And, not, like actually being like a newborn baby and not being able to dress myself."

Edward chuckled. "Is it really so bad that I have to help you get dressed?" He had rather enjoyed the process of sliding the jeans up her legs, and then helping her put on her bra. Of course, said efforts were nearly counterproductive, but they'd been ultimately successful. The fact that he was looking forward to helping her back out of everything later made it easier.

"I suppose not . . . for now," Bella grumbled, "but it feels so wasteful when everything I touch gets damaged."

Edward smiled in sympathy. "Right after Carlisle changed me, he bought books on plumbing and construction and made me read them. Shall I tell you why?"

She nodded.

"It's because I kept ripping faucet handles and doorknobs off when I tried to use them."

"You did not." Her tone expressed doubt but she was smiling, at least. This was helping.

"I did. And I went through two piano keyboards as well."

"Really?" She chuckled. "You're not just trying to make me feel better?"

He shook his head. "I wouldn't lie to you. And if you still don't believe me, remind me later to tell you some stories about Emmett. And even Esme."

She reached up to place a hand to his cheek, as careful as if she was touching a pane of glass. She really was doing well, no matter how much she complained. "Thank you," she said sincerely. "You always have a way of making me feel better about things."

"Still part of my job description." he murmured, losing himself in her loving gaze and wondering if they could wait a few more minutes before calling the children.

His desire was stymied by Bella's next words. "Edward, is my dad okay?" She kept her voice very low, obviously wanting to keep the conversation private. They'd already spoken briefly about Edward's conversation with Charlie in the woods, briefly being the chief descriptor. It seemed that most of their recent conversations, when conducted in private, were so and, after all, it was the first time they'd been apart for even a minute since her change. Edward hadn't really considered before which of his wife's desires would take precedence, beyond thirst, after her transformation. He had no questions now. No complaints, either.

"He's . . . quite anxious," he told her now. It was not untrue, but Charlie was perfectly capable of speaking his own mind, and Edward hoped he would do so with Bella on his own terms and timeline.

"And you two are okay?" She asked.

He smirked and waved his hands over his chest with a flourish. "No bullet holes."

She chuckled at their old joke. "Very funny. But really, are you?"

He nodded, expecting her face to relax, but it remained tense and questioning.

"What was up with Jasper needing to hunt? He didn't need to, I could tell. And my dad . . . he's . . ." Her features were twisted in concentration even as she waited for his reply. Edward knew that she must be very worried if she was able to be so focused.

This part he could share, without feeling as if he was violating Charlie's confidence. "Victoria told most of her newborns that exposure to direct sunlight would kill them. When the cloud cover disappeared, your father was understandably quite concerned."

She inhaled. "The moonlight."

"Yes, that was why they stopped. Jasper thought he was too anxious to continue but he couldn't tell why until we got there and I could get a read on him."

"And that was why you . . . ?"

"Yes."

"He thought we would die."

Edward nodded.

"Oh, Dad," she breathed out. "You're going to be okay."

While it was doubtful her words would reach Charlie's hearing, Edward wasn't sure they would even percolate through the many layers of trauma the man was contending with. He'd been amazed when Charlie had managed to dredge himself out of his bewildering stew of thoughts to confront him earlier. But he was very glad he had.

In the meantime, though, Edward could hear by their thoughts that Tanya had taken Charlie in hand, inviting him to help her sort through some of Eleazar's clothes for himself, and to finally join her in the living space to read. Unlike his daughter, and most newborns in Edward's experience, Charlie was nimble as a newborn, and he hadn't destroyed anything yet. Edward could tell that he appreciated the undemanding company he'd been offered, for Tanya's company was just that: gentle, calming. He remembered a time, many years ago, that she had been that for him, as well. "I think he will," Edward said. Thinking that this was a subject of conversation best left for another time, he announced, "The kids should be wide awake by now."

He had her full attention with that comment. Her gaze flicked to the clock and back. "Let's call."

"Oh," Esme said, picking up on the first ring. "You've just missed them. Emmett took them for ice cream."

"At ten AM?" Bella squeaked.

Edward was glad he was holding the phone.

"After they went for a walk in the park," Esme amended.

Edward held up a pacifying hand, and Bella closed her mouth. He smiled gently at her while he spoke to Esme. "I'm guessing Madeleine is with you?"

"Of course." He heard her voice soften. "Just a minute."

Esme turned the call to video, and there she was, asleep as only newborn babies could be, wrapped in a knit white blanket, her fine red hair tufted out the top of the swaddle like the tip of some exotic bouquet.

"Oh," Bella breathed, her hand to her heart, arms tight around her chest.

They watched her in Esme's arms, their focus unbroken and feeling no guilt for keeping Esme so still. Vampire arms never tired, and the gazes of vampire parents never needed to stray.

After some time, Edward nudged closer to Bella. "Not so bad, then?"

"Not so bad," she said, her smile brilliant.

- 0 -

Charlie Swan stared out of the bank of windows that run the length of the wall holding up the main room's vaulted ceiling. Though snow banked the house—he snorted and amended his description—the resort-shaped domicile, the view was anything but plain. The snow wasn't white. It was silver, blue, and grey, then the palest orange and pink when the clouds thinned and let the sunset through. In places, the miniscule ice crystals found light to fracture. And he was trying very hard to have his attention be absorbed by this, because otherwise he would recall things he would so much rather not.

There was no silence in this house, as there had not been silence in the other place he'd been kept. But he was, he reminded himself, free to leave. He told himself this, shifting his eyes to the woman who sat beside him, near-silently turning pages in her book. He didn't think she'd try to tackle him if he ran, but he wasn't sure.

Edward's brother Jasper, though, he was a different story. It was easier to think of him as, 'the-one-with-all-the-bitemarks'.

He didn't really recall meeting Jasper before. He had, he knew, but the man's presence had been so quiet, he had simply faded into the background.

Before. He shook his head. There was no use going there right now.

Tanya turned another page. Her eyes appeared married to the words, her focus unbroken.

They were vampires. He was a vampire. He turned these words over in his mind again. Emmett had explained this to him, eyeing Jasper as he'd done so. And then he'd shown him how to take down a deer.

Charlie filled his lungs with air and released it. He didn't need to breathe. That was helpful to know. He'd suspected as much, but no one had exactly given him a crash course in what he was when he'd stopped wanting to die from the pain. He shuddered at the memory.

Tanya looked at him then, but didn't say anything. Unlike every other one of his kind—Bella included—her gaze didn't make his skin want to crawl. It felt . . . soft. He supposed that was why she was sitting beside him, and not Bella. The others had disappeared somewhere. Jasper was outside.

He really liked that Jasper was outside.

The sounds of the house buzzed around him. A cabinet clicked shut. The chug of water drawn through plastic pipes by the washing machine. A zipper undone. A swish of fabric dropped to the floor. Then whispered names.

Bella's name.

"Oh." The word escaped before he thought to catch it. Bella and Edward were—

"Why don't you come to the kitchen with me?" Tanya said.

"Why?" Again, words before thinking. "Sorry."

She didn't answer his question, standing and smiling at him with a gentle, "C'mon."

The kitchen looked like it belonged in a house. A very, very large house. It also looked like it could house five chefs.

Tanya went to a cabinet, pulling out a mug, then found a kettle and filled it with water, which she put on the hob to boil.

"We can't—" Charlie started.

"Oh, I know." Again, that smile. That very soft smile. He could relax a little with that smile.

When the water was boiling, Tanya let the whistle of the tea kettle go on for a bit longer than he thought necessary, until he realized that it masked other sounds in the place. Finally removing the kettle from the stove, Tanya filled a mug and then carried this over to a small table and chairs by one of the windows. "Here," she pushed it towards him. "It'll feel nice to hold it, and it won't smell nearly as bad as if I made you a cup of coffee."

Charlie wrapped his hands around the cup. It did feel nice. He'd sat so in his life, hands taking the warmth from a cup of coffee. And they were further from the bedrooms here. The sounds were more muted.

"Thank you," he said softly. It was a kind gesture, and he had a far greater appreciation for kindness, now.

She smiled again.

His muscles felt like they relaxed just a tiny bit more. His body was starting to catch up with his head. He was safe here. He was just . . . here. Safe.

Yet, with this relief, and the relaxation of the tension that had gripped him in the last couple of weeks, other things found space to be. He'd woken to brutality, and then had his own brutality awoken in him. He'd seen things he would never unsee, and worse, done things that clung to his memory like the barnacles on a boat. He could not shake them—and he had tried.

"You must still have many questions."

Charlie eyed Tanya. She hadn't asked a question or made a demand; she'd simply made an observation—a slightly presumptive one but nothing that required response. She'd make an excellent interrogator, he mused. He would know, as he'd been a good one himself. He could read people well. Vampires, however, he was not so adept at decoding. Never had been, apparently, he thought with chagrin as he considered how much he had missed. Their bodies did not betray their feelings, not the way humans' did. He tried to remember if anything Edward had done or not done had raised any alarm bells, but he came up blank. He was sure he'd seen the man eat and drink in front of him, and both Edward and Carlisle were practicing physicians, for crying out loud.

"How'd you know to do this?" he asked, lifting his chin towards the cup in his hands.

She quirked an eyebrow. "That's not what I would expect you to ask."

"What would you expect me to ask?"

"About what you are, now."

He lifted an eyebrow in turn. She wasn't giving anything away. Definitely skilled. "You haven't answered my question."

She chuckled. "Sorry. I'm used to being evasive, and here I invited questions. I, um . . . have some experience with the recently turned." That smile again, but more rueful.

He nodded, acknowledging her answer. He wouldn't prod at her melancholy. "I know so little about what I am, and what the hell's going on, you probably couldn't go wrong by telling me anything."

"Anything, well." She took in a breath and released it, but not like someone would when they needed air. It was like she was appreciating the scent of a flower. "We're immortal. We live forever." She paused, watching him absorb this.

Charlie nodded for her to continue, letting her words sink into him. She was easy to listen to.

"We don't change or age, though we will gather dust if we stay still for too long." She smiled a little. "Not that I expect you're one to want to sit around." She went on, blithely disclosing that she'd lived for just over a millenia, offering up some of her personal history, and that of her family. "But I'm sorry, you must have more questions about our general nature, what we can do—"

"No," Charlie assured her, "I enjoy hearing about people." He chuckled, only a little bitterly. "Occupational hazard."

"And what was your occupation?" she asked.

"I was a cop."

"A lawkeeper." She nodded, as if in approval. "My family has a . . . healthy respect for the law."

That sadness again. She was a woman who understood what it was to be hurt. Here he understood the reasoning for her shepherding him, and here he found the courage to ask the question he'd been afraid to ask, especially after seeing Bella.

He lowered his voice. "Was how, was how I was . . . turned, is it, does it have to be . . . bad—do you know if that would have happened to Bella?"

Tanya's face seemed to crumple slightly. "No," she said. "Not at all, though it is rare for the person to be willing so perhaps there would have been less fear. I understand Edward changed Bella because she would have died otherwise. He was very concerned because she didn't show any distress during her transformation. He thought he'd done something wrong. Of course, Edward is an expert worrier." There was a hint of a smile again.

The relief was like water in Charlie's bones—everywhere all at once. The air left his lungs in a giant shove, and he felt no need to retrieve more of it.

She hadn't suffered. At least, not like he had.

He let this be enough for a moment, before he began his next query. "Edward said she hadn't . . . hurt anyone." He didn't think Edward would lie about this, but after learning all that he had in the last hours, it didn't hurt to have some things verified from more than one source.

"I'm sure the Cullens took every precaution to keep her from harming a human."

A nice way of saying she didn't know.

Never in his life had he ever imagined he would have the weight of seven souls on his conscience. Never. And in so imagining, he had no framework with which to carry them. Their memory was sandpaper on skin, and for all the hardness his new body had, his mind and heart broke with each remembrance of those faces. He may not have been the one who killed them in every case but they had still died because of him and he couldn't deny having had their blood run through his veins . . . if he even had veins now. He didn't even have names for the visages that haunted him.

The guilt was just the beginning, the brutality of the others of his kind he'd been kept with its own special seasoning. If the fear of being burnt alive hadn't been enough to shackle him to the monstrous woman and her henchman, the summary execution of the man who had tried to escape would have. The crack and metallic sheering had been their own horror, but then the smoke . . . another shudder rattled up his spine.

He hadn't been posturing when he told Edward to kill him during the battle. If he had known the man could read minds, he might have kept pleading out on that field. He hadn't been sure he could exist for the next five minutes, let alone an eternity. He wasn't sure now, either, but he had promised Edward that he would try. For Bella. For his grandkids.

It made the now fainter sounds coming from the bedroom area of the house only a minor irritation in the scope of things about which he needed to be concerned. Bella was a grown woman, married a second time. She and her husband could . . .

He cleared his throat, grateful for the sound it made. Then he realized that Tanya's face had slipped—just the tiniest bit—and then resumed its careful mask. But for a moment, he had glanced at something there that was . . . not an expression worn in polite company.

He turned the cup gently in his hands. He didn't want to break it. He liked the heat, though it was fading, and brought it to his lips. Yes, there was a familiar comfort in that gesture too, although it recalled the thirst for something very, very different.

If Tanya noticed his physical discomfort, she said nothing.

The house noises were a helpful screen, but they were just that, a screen, and everything for miles drifted in, this further filtered and sorted by his mind. He'd had enough time since his change to appreciate its new powers, thinking how nice it would've been if he'd had them when he had been a sheriff. But now his mind caught the words, and more importantly, the alarming tone with which Edward, and then Bella, were speaking.

Tanya would have heard it all too, but appeared to pretend not to have heard, at least, not until one word made her eyes widen with what Charlie knew could only be fear.

"Who are the Volturi?" He asked.

- 0 -

With the call to Esme concluded, Edward turned to Bella but was interrupted by the buzz of his cellphone, which was still in his hand. Alice. Part of him was exasperated. He and his wife—his now immortal, unbreakable, never-tiring wife—were alone, their loved ones safe, their enemy destroyed, and he had several plans with which to fill a period of unbroken, solitary time. None of those plans entailed phone calls.

"Yes?" he said as politely as he could, answering the call.

Alice's words were simple, the briefness and urgency with which they were spoken enough to inform him of almost all he needed to know: "They're coming."

Edward swallowed hard and nodded to himself, momentarily forgetting that Alice couldn't see him.

"Edward?" Alice asked.

"Yes," he replied. "I understand. When?"

"Tomorrow. You need to come now."

Still holding the phone to his ear, Edward turned to look at his wife, whose face was a tense canvas he was about to paint with horrors he didn't want to see.

"Who's coming?" she asked.

His voice cracked over a whisper as he spoke: "The Volturi."

- 0 -

Author's Postscript for 2020-06-05: Many thanks to Eeyorefan12 for taking my raw material and making it work. She's an amazing beta.

Credit: We need to give a public nod to AllTheOtherNamesAreUsed's story "Prelude in C", which inspired Edward's comments about learning about plumbing after breaking so many taps as a newborn. If you haven't read this fic, you should. It's a marvelous story, which examines Edward's early life through both Carlisle's and Edward's eyes. It's beautifully written and is a fascinating character study.

Cheers,

Erin

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