A/N for 2019-09-01: The summer has vanished, and I find myself staring down the beginning of the school year. Gulp! While I plan on sticking to my weekly posting schedule, don't be too surprised if chapters don't appear like clockwork. My beta, Eeyorefan12, and I are keen to give you a high-quality story, rather than a story on schedule.

~ Erin

"Are they alright?" Bella asked, as she and Edward pulled up to the Cullen house. He parked in the garage and she heard the door closing behind them.

Then he paused, listening for the children through the garage's silence. "They're fine. They're quite happy to be here."

"Good," Bella said. "Now tell me what's going on."

Edward nodded, but didn't say anything right away. Instead, he stared straight ahead through the windshield, his jaw tight and his fingers still clenched tightly around the steering wheel.

"What did you take off my desk?" Bella asked.

"Your folders," Edward said. He still didn't look at her.

His response was too smooth, too simple. He was lying. It was a lie by omission, but still a deliberate obscuring of the truth.

If she wasn't worried about hurting her newly-healed hand, she'd have smacked it against the dashboard out of frustration. Still, instinct told her that Edward was wound as tightly as she was right now and to take that into consideration. "You promised you would never keep things from me again—that you'll tell me whatever I ask." she reminded him as calmly as she could. "What did you take from my desk?"

He closed his eyes and then opened them, reaching around and bringing her work bag to the front seat. "I'm sorry, Bella," he whispered. Then he handed her a neat stack of three photographic enlargements. They were glossy, and the garage's reflected light obscured the images until they were directly in front of Bella.

The top-most one was of Matt. It was the same picture she'd used for the funeral cards, only this print had a number one scrawled over the corner in bold black marker. Bella swallowed, feeling a twist in her gut and a lump in her throat. She brushed a finger over Matt's face. She set the flare of grief and the picture aside. The next one required some puzzling before she could make sense of the dark shapes. It was her cat, Bubbles—only the slack pose and open eyes told her it had been taken after the cat's death. A number two was written in the same corner in the same messy scrawl.

"Were they in this order when you found them?" she breathed, not looking away from the photo in her hand.

"No," Edward said shortly.

Her hands trembled as she tried to make herself move to the next picture.

"Is it someone I love?" she managed.

She heard Edward swallow before he answered. "I don't think so, no."

Her fingers obeyed her command to move, and she briefly focused her eyes on the new image before her. Then she frantically scrambled out of the car just before she was sick on the garage floor. As she straightened up, she realized the third photo was still in her hand. The other two had already fallen to the floor.

"No," she said, when Edward's hands reached for her. "Just let me look. I need to see."

"No, you don't—"

"I need to see," she said , and looked again at the startling image which had sickened her.

It was Grant. Only it wasn't. The violently garnet eyes and perfectly pale skin left no question as to what he was now. His lips were curled back in a snarl as he stared at whoever was taking the photo.

The writing was clearer on this one: three of . . . ? was printed boldly over the bottom. Flipping it over, she read on. You can end this anytime, Bella. And underneath, in smaller letters: And I can't wait to meet your baby. - V.

She dropped it, watching the printed image sail its uncertain way to the floor to join the others. Her hand remained open, and she stared at the garage's polished concrete, trying to swallow away the taste of fear and vomit.

"You're safe here," Edward said. She was pretty sure he'd said other things too, but her ears seemed to be ringing too loudly to hear them.

She was safe. For now. Her children too. But everyone else? No guarantees.

It took effort to force her lips into a flicker of a wry smile. "I know."

Who else? She wondered. Who would be next? And how many? Grant wasn't even truly part of her life. Edward had tried to see to that, had tried to protect him. At least, she told herself, Edward wasn't telling her right now that it wouldn't happen again. Because it probably would.

Other people would die in her place.

She shuddered.

"Come inside," Edward murmured, a hand at her back.

She snapped back to her practical self, needing something to do, something to center herself. "Are there any paper towels?" She eyed the congealing puddle she'd left on the floor.

Edward shook his head. "Someone else will get it."

She snorted. "No, thanks. I've cleaned up enough of other people's vomit as a parent. I don't need to leave it for anyone else to do. That's obnoxious."

Edward's hand squeezed hers, almost to the point of pain. "Bella, it's fine. Come inside. You don't look well right now."

She was sure she didn't. Pulling away from his touch, she moved to the cupboards that ran the length of one wall, opening and closing them, looking for something to clean with.

Impatient, Edward went to one of the cabinets in the corner, pulled out a roll of paper towels, and then cleaned up the mess before she could open her mouth to object. "Can we go inside now?" he asked. She was sure he was masking a lot more than exasperation, but he hid it well, not that she would have cared.

She noticed the pictures had also disappeared from the floor and nodded her defeat.

"Where are my kids?" she asked.

"They're downstairs. Rose and Alice just put on a movie for them.."

A better mother would object to television in the middle of the day, she thought. Of course, a better mother would probably not be responsible for getting her friend and colleague . . . . the word 'killed' tripped off her mental tongue. But it wasn't death, was it? It was just a near-approximation.

The realization was fresh again. Oh God, Grant. Another surge of nausea rippled through her midsection, and she ducked into the main floor bathroom as soon as they entered the house. Her stomach behaved, but barely. Bella waited, simply breathing. Finally, she splashed water over her face and rinsed out her mouth. When she looked in the mirror, the woman staring back looked haggard, her pale blouse splattered with the colourful confetti of her rejected lunch.

Just like the nausea, Bella knew grief came in a series of waves—and she was about done with the ocean of it which she had already traversed.

An unwanted sob lurched out of her throat. Out of frustration, she finally let herself smack her fisted right hand into the sink's edge.

"Don't," Edward said softly, appearing beside her. He curled his hand under hers, obviously trying to cool it with his own temperature. "Come on." He nudged her towards the stairs.

When they reached his room, he closed the door behind them. "What do you need right now?"

She couldn't even begin to consider the question. The answers were just too unattainable at the moment. She wanted to see her children but was worried that she would frighten them in her current state. She shook her head.

Edward's face bore all the usual marks of his worry but his voice was insistent and firm. "Right now, what do you need?"

She glanced down at herself "I'll take not being covered in vomit."

"Alright," Edward said, lifting his chin towards the dresser. "There are clothes for you in the second drawer. The bathroom's behind you."

"Okay." She shrugged off her sweater, and began working at the buttons on her blouse. Her fingers shook, and she struggled to undo even the topmost one. She persisted, grimacing in frustration as the fine fabric kept slipping out of her trembling grip.

"Here," Edward said softly, replacing her clumsy fingers with his deft ones.

His touch was pragmatic. She shed her blouse as soon as she could, not even thinking about any other implication of this movement. As she slipped her camisole over her head, Edward's face came into view.

They'd been intimate, but they'd not yet shared the intimacy of grief.

As she studied his expression, she saw it slowly dissolve into what was surely a reflection of her own sense of devastation and sorrow.

"It's okay," he whispered, pulling her into a hug. "It'll be okay. We'll keep you all safe and figure this out."

She wanted to take his comfort, but it was so empty there was nothing to grasp. "It's not okay, Edward. There is nothing that makes this in any way alright. He's one of y—he's that way because of me, because he was just trying to be my friend."

Edward's head slowly turned back and forth, like he was trying to repel the ugly truth. "She's trying to hurt you, because she couldn't get to me."

"I know." She kept her face buried in his chest. "But I also know that I could keep her from destroying the people I care about."

"By letting her destroy the people I care about?" Edward shook his head again more forcefully, pulling back to look at her. His, "No," was loud and firm. "No." He said again, gripping her shoulders so that she had to look at him. "I won't let you do it, so dismiss the idea now."

She considered his expression and his tone. Neither were arrogant, but they were cold. They were the words of a man who had the capacity to make them real, whether she wanted him to or not.

There was a challenging edge to his voice when he spoke next. "How would you feel if I offered myself up to her?"

Her jaw almost dropped, "I wouldn't—"

"Let me. I know. And I know because I remember exactly what it felt like when you disappeared on Alice and Jasper in Phoenix—God, Bella. I nearly—" He shook his head.

"You nearly what?"

"When I thought you might not make it, I had to have a plan—an escape, if you weren't here—"

"You were going to kill yourself?"

His laugh sounded so dark and twisted it was almost a sob. "No. Though when I didn't know what had happened to you, I'd wished it could be so simple. There's no suicide for our kind. Carlisle's experiences assured me of that. No. I was going to go to the Volturi and do something to offend them."

She stared at him, a leaden weight making her innards sink. "If something happens to me, you can't—you can't do that, Edward. Josh and Mer—"

"I wouldn't," he said quickly. "I might act like the corpse I truly am for a time, but I wouldn't be so selfish." His hand grazed her stomach as it curled around to her back. "No," he said. "I love you all too much for that."

She was aware of her chest rising and falling, air coming in, and air leaving. She let herself be that for the moment—a tenuous holder of air.

Edward's next words were softer. "We will find her and end this. Remember that. You get to have happiness, Bella. You deserve it."

She knew better than to think anyone was owed a debt of happiness, but if they could somehow find and destroy Victoria, the ability to simply live without a cloud of doom hanging over their heads would be a miracle.

In the interim, she would tuck away Victoria's ugly bargain, and hope she'd never need to enter into it. And that Edward could forgive her if she did.

"Okay," she breathed.

Edward's hands had been traversing her back as they spoke. His fingers made those same trails now, up and down her spine, then swirling over her shoulder blades.

"You're cold," Edward murmured, moving as if to pull away.

"Yup. I'm down with that," she said, fisting his shirt, keeping him close.

"Are you going to take a shower?"

"Mm-hmm."

She kept his shirt in her grip as he put his arm around her and walked with her to the bathroom. There he turned on the shower one-handed.

"Stay with me?" She asked.

He nodded, unbuttoning and removing his shirt, then the rest of his clothes.

Bella shimmied out of her skirt and underwear, stepping into the shower and pulling Edward with her. After quickly rinsing herself off, she turned her back to the spray, and let herself sink into the chill of his chest, the heat of the water sluicing down her spine. She felt Edward reach for a bottle of shampoo and then his hands gently but efficiently stroking through her hair while she closed her eyes and gave herself up to his ministrations.

Her body calmed itself, but her thoughts remained wildly morbid.

Would your blood feel warm, leaving your body? She wondered. Would a vampire leave any to even trickle, or would it all be gone? She'd never asked. Edward had told her from the beginning that he had killed people. She could ask him right now, couldn't she?

Her gorge rose. Blood was always a dangerous thing to think about. Even the idea could trigger the nausea.

So she wondered how much Grant had suffered before the torture of his change. If he was suffering now. Edward had already described the agony of the first year after the transformation, back when his only goal was convincing her not to do it.

She felt sick to her stomach, but at least she didn't want to throw up again.

She made herself consider what Victoria might do with her. The speculation was an inoculation against fear. It might not be the worst possibility, to die at her hands. It was a better one than watching her children be taken—

"What are you thinking?" Edward's voice was a breath in her ear.

Shaking her head, she said, "Not thinking, really. I'm more just . . . letting thoughts pass by. Trying not to notice them too much."

He didn't challenge her lie—for surely he could feel that it was one—but instead , tightened his embrace a little more.

This might be it. The now. There might not be a future for them. This too was something she needed to recognize.

Her children needed to be safe, and not just physically. If Victoria was successful, Bella needed to know that Mer and Josh would have a home and family beyond Charlie. People who understood and could protect against the dangers to which most humans were oblivious.

"Edward," she started.

"Yes?"

"If something happens, I want Josh and Mer to be with you."

He pulled away, eyebrows pinching together in a V, "Nothing is going to happen."

"I need to know they'll be with you," she said, pleadingly.

"Nothing—"

"Things happen," she said. "Even when we don't want them to." She looked in the direction of the garage and then back at him. "I don't know what needs to be done legally, but I want you to be their father in every sense. I know my Dad wouldn't like it, but I want to make sure it can't be contested."

Edward watched her for a long moment, "We can do that."

Bella exhaled in relief. "Good." Then she shuddered, either from the cold, or the cold possibilities the future might represent. Edward drew her further under the warm spray of the shower but didn't pull away as she would have expected him to.

The water ran over them for a few more quiet moments. Her face was still pressed against his chest, so when he spoke it was a rumble in her ear. "Bella?"

"Mm?"

"If something did happen—and this is a big 'if'—would you want me to . . .would you let me change you?"

Already still against him, now she was frozen. Her stomach sickened again, thinking of Grant. It wasn't the same though, and she knew it, but . . . to be changed?

"If what happened?"

"If you were going to die, and I couldn't save you."

When she looked up at him, he was staring far away. His hands hadn't moved, but he seemed distant for all his physical proximity.

He was asking if he had to lose her.

If she was changed, her children would lose her anyway, and she them. She would have Edward, but at what cost? The anguish ripped at her, and she pressed a hand to her stomach.

Her, "I can't," and his, "I'm sorry," were simultaneous.

She shook her head, and he whispered, "I'm sorry," again. "Forgive me for asking. It's too much, and I'm just being selfish."

She wasn't sure she wasn't selfish too. Greedy. Greedy for him—for a life with everything.

But no one got to have everything.

Edward pulled away, leaning out of the stall to grab towels and then turning off the water.

Accepting the towel he handed her, Bella dried off quickly, and wrapped it loosely around herself. She leaned against the bathroom wall to watch Edward do the same. They'd only been naked together once before, under very different circumstances, but this still felt inexplicably familiar. She found herself unwillingly comparing—again—her relationship with Edward to the one she'd had with her husband.

It had taken Bella a long time to be comfortable being naked around Matt. She didn't know if it was the product of youthful insecurity, or a different quality of relationship. She'd had no other basis for comparison. But it felt almost effortless to be with Edward like this. There was no awkwardness, no worrying about hiding her perceived imperfections. Her very flesh told her it was right. She wondered, not for the first time, if this truly was the 'bond' the Cullens had often alluded to—if this was the closest a human could come to experiencing it.

With Edward's question fresh in her mind, Bella contemplated life's several cruel vicissitudes: age, disease, or more likely for her, a vengeful vampire. She was the weak link in their possible happiness.

At one time, she'd asked him for immortality. Not now, though. Who wanted to live forever if it meant distantly watching your own children age and die without you?

No, this was it.

She pushed herself away from the wall and stepped in his direction, not bothering to keep her towel in place. She kept her eyes on his. Taking his face between her hands, she pressed their lips together, tasting the sweetness his mouth hinted at. She liked the feel of his hair wet, moldable and silky under her touch. Her fingers massaged it, craving more of the sensation.

Not in any way immune to her touch, Edward responded in kind, but eventually his hands slid past her hips and he crouched slightly as if to pick her up and carry her.

"No, here," she whispered.

Edward's forehead crinkled a bit, not understanding, and Bella pulled him back towards the wall.

"Here."

He kissed her again. She wasn't sure if he didn't understand what she was asking for or if his still-provincial ideas about what constituted respectful treatment of women didn't allow for it.

"I want you here. Now," she clarified. She let her hand drift down between them to release the towel from his waist.

His eyes darkened suddenly and with almost a single motion, he lifted and then pressed himself into her. Her moan tripped over a glottal edge in her throat, and she arched her head back, trying to squeeze herself further into this moment and the primal feeling this connection between them created. It was easier for him this time. She could feel it in his motions. His body knew where the limits of hers laid—and too, where its tingling pleasures were to be found.

She could feel her tender flesh protesting the activities she was subjecting them to, but it was a small protest, easily buried under the deluge of sensation that was sweeping broadly over her body as he moved within her.

When Edward's lips closed around first one, then the other breast, her hands gripped his shoulders, muscles straining for the release she craved. His cool tongue unlocked the final gate to that welcome oblivion, and the coil of her body retracted, causing her to cling to his neck tightly, crying out. She heard his low, primal growl as his body joined hers in pleasurable disintegration.

After a time, Bella came to the awareness that their bodies were still melted against one another, her legs wrapped around him. Edward, without releasing his hold, carried her to the bed in his room. He didn't set her down as she expected, though, but laid her on her back with her feet propped up against the pillows and the headboard.

"Why—?" Bella started

"It'll help with the swelling." He kissed her and pulled the comforter over her.

Right. He would be thinking of that practicality. Edward lay down beside her, and they traded the gentle brush of fingers and lips. Then she curled against him while Edward stared up at the ceiling, listening or thinking—she wasn't sure which.

As with anytime she lay down, Bella found herself blinking heavily, finally stifling a yawn.

"You can sleep now," Edward whispered.

She struggled with the thought that she should take care of something—someone—else. "The kids, Edward. I should—"

The finger he laid against her lips was gentle but firm. "The children are fine. Please rest." There was a new urgency to his tone and she wondered at it. The darkness in his gaze was still there from before, as well. She could feel how unsettled he was.

Bella raised a hand to stroke his cheek. "Edward?"

His smile was forced. "Bella, please sleep." he said urgently. "Everything is fine. It's alright."

It was nothing close to alright, but it also didn't allay her need for rest, and perhaps Edward would feel calmer if she did. She let herself succumb to sleep, wondering, not for the last time, how much more time in the world she'd even have to enjoy this simplest of pleasures, let alone others.

- 0 -

The light hadn't shifted much when she woke up, but her company had. Rose sat in a chair near the foot of the bed, flipping through a magazine. She didn't look up when Bella blinked her eyes open.

"Where's Edward?" she asked, voice raspy with half-sleep. Instinctively, she reached for the spot beside her where he had been when she'd fallen asleep.

Rose caught the motion and briefly lifted her gaze to Bella's. "He had to go out."

Bella's heart rate doubled, and she pushed herself up off the pillow with a jerk. That nebulous answer had to be a Cullen evasion. "Did he go after her?" she choked out.

Rose frowned, returning her attention to the magazine and flipping a page. "Of course not. Calm down. He's just out, Bella. He needed to . . . hunt. Blow off some steam. He's fine. Jasper is . . . with him."

Bella contemplated this response. Despite the jolt of that initial fear, she still felt the pull of exhaustion and sleep. Surely Rose would be more concerned if her brother was putting himself in danger, wouldn't she?

As if she was the mindreader, Rose lifted her eyes again, this time, leaning forward to make her point. "Really, he's fine. He'll be back soon."

Bella's elbow slipped a little, letting her slide back down into the bed.

"You should get some more sleep." Rose's voice had softened.

Should she now, Bella mused.

"It's the best thing you can do right now," Rose said then, returning to her reading. "For both of you." She muttered the last part almost to herself.

Edward had left, but only temporarily.

He was coming back, Rose said.

"Sleep," Rose said again, even more quietly

Bella's eyelids made the choice for her, and she marvelled how even as the afternoon sun edged toward twilight, she'd found enough hope and trust to leave consciousness for sleep, accepting Rose's promise that Edward would return.

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