A/N for 2019-09-08: Gosh, you guys are tough on Bella! I didn't really think Edward had the best timing on that question, but hey, that's just me. :-)

New chapters: For now, I can guarantee publishing a chapter every two weeks (still aiming for Sundays), with possibly more in between, as real life permits.

Many, many thanks to Eeyorefan12 for her fine, fine work on this chapter and the story. Credit goes to her for this chapter idea, which began as an introduction to the next chapter, and grew into its own separate piece.

- Erin

When he knew Bella was fully asleep, Edward issued a plea to his family in a tense, barely-controlled whisper, "I need someone to watch her."

Rose's 'Sure', was silent, reinforced by her audible steps up the stairs.

He was out the bedroom door as soon as she stepped across its threshold, leaping over the railing to the first floor, then needing only a few long strides to reach the front door. He shoved it open, hearing it snap back loudly against the frame as he let himself explode into a wild run.

For the first time in a very long stretch, he was afraid of losing control. And losing his mate.

His family's minds had been full of theories about Victoria. There were notes of despair in their thoughts, with each of them accepting a share of blame for their collective failure to end all this by now

They were all trying to avoid making ugly visual speculations about what Victoria might do if they couldn't.

At one point, in an unguarded moment, Rose had imagined the children in Victoria's clutches, and the headboard in Edward's room was now short a hand-sized chunk of wood for it.

Too much. It was all too much.

His pace quickened, a wake of needles and leaf-mould flying behind him. He couldn't go too far—it simply wasn't safe—but he needed whatever air and space he could find. And something to kill. His hands virtually throbbed with unspent frustration and violence.

Victoria had hurt the woman he loved. Victoria was harming his mate.

And Bella was so easily harmed, too quick to put herself in danger for those she loved, and so frustratingly fragile as a human. And she has no plans to change that fact. He felt a clench in his chest as her recent refusal briefly entered his thoughts but he wrestled the feelings back down. For now, nothing mattered but keeping her and her children safe. He had known, even as the words had left his mouth that the timing of his question to Bella could have been better but, not only had he wanted to know, he needed to know. With Victoria having proved how easily she could still slip through their defenses, he could no longer pretend that all would be well.

Enough, he told himself. He would make time later to consider his future with Bella, and whether it was right or fair to try to change her mind. But right now, there were too many points to guard, and not enough Cullens to guard them. Even with just the children and her and her father and Sue . . .

In frustration, he slammed his fist into a tree. The fir splintered, its topend crashing down and toppling several of its peers on its way to the forest floor.

He ripped into a neighbouring pine, tearing through the trunk with both hands and then obliterating its falling mast.

Too fresh in his mind were the horrors of watching Esme suffer Jane's torture while he and his family were frozen in stillness. His perfect recall replayed the scene, and then dredged up the horrific memories of finding Bella so perilously wounded in the ballet studio.

Like then, helpless to control it, he felt his human pretense shatter.

His thoughts were a feral haze as he tore into the formation of stone that made up part of the forest floor, his hands pounding, then crushing the rock strata to nothing.

The breeze lifted the dust he'd unsettled, and in its gritty taste he found the scent of something living. Surrendering to his nature, he prowled, launching himself into the heights of the canopy, leaping silently from branch to branch until he found the source: coyotes. The two of them were so engrossed in a stand-off over a long-dead raccoon that they were oblivious to his approach.

An image of Victoria's face flashed briefly through his mind as he dropped to the ground and grabbed both creatures by their mangy necks. He felt the satisfying crack of bone as his jaws closed around first one throat, then another, draining both of them in seconds.

It wasn't enough, not nearly. He let his senses expand, searching for more life with which to slake his anger, thirst, and need for vengeance.

When he heard footsteps and Jasper's thoughts approaching, he crouched and snarled, instinctively protecting his kill and territory.

Jasper paused just within Edward's line of sight, eyes lowered and hands at his sides.

Edward's growl vibrated in his chest.

His brother didn't move.

After a few minutes, thoughts and words became more than suggestions in Edward's mind. Jasper took a single, slow step closer to him.

"No!" he hissed in warning, fearing for his brother. Could he not tell that Edward was still in the throes of bloodlust?

I'll stay right here, brother, Jasper called silently. I'm sorry. His empathy didn't have words, but Edward knew it all the same. He could see himself in Jasper's thoughts, his eyes black with want and fury, his expression desperate and surely threatening. He watched Jasper register the destruction around them as well—the fallen trees and pulverized rock he had seen on his way, the remains of Edward's drained kills and their prey in a haphazard pile behind him. The sight only served to tempt Edward's feral side.

Unable to suppress it, he snarled again, warning Jasper to stay away. He needed to destroy something so thoroughly it would be as if it never existed. His animal self was overwhelming him again, pulling him towards that frenzied state.

Then the feeling abruptly disappeared.

It was like falling into a void. All emotional sensation simply ended.

The desolation was complete.

Edward dropped to his knees, hands clutching his chest. "Give it back," he gasped. The emptiness was brutal—and familiar. It was the horrifying space he'd found himself in when he thought Bella might be dead all those years ago. "Give it back!"

As precipitously as it began, the absence of emotion ended, and Edward fell forward, his hands burying themselves in the leaf mould and dirt. His breathing was frantic, as if by drawing in the unnecessary air, he could draw life into his own lifeless body.

"She's safe," Jasper said aloud, his guilty thoughts repeating the words. He'd been so worried about his brother's state of mind, he'd used his gift in desperation.

Edward couldn't help the bitter laugh that erupted from his throat as he let Jasper's assurances wash over him. He uncurled his fingers from where they fisted the dirt and leaves and buried them in his hair, pulling at it as hard as he dared without ripping it out by the roots. His knees were wet, the dampness of the ground seeping up where he knelt, and he kept himself folded in this pose of supplication. If God had stopped listening to him, perhaps the earth would instead.

"She's not safe, Jasper. She'll never be safe until Victoria's dead," he said through gritted teeth. "And neither will anyone around her."

Jasper sighed with relief and took a step closer as he witnessed Edward's familiar gesture of frustration. He silently agreed, but his thoughts were more strategically-focused, theories and stratagems spinning outwards from their present situation.

"It's war, Edward. There will be innocent victims," Jasper said. He put a tentative hand on Edward's shoulder and tugged gently, drawing his brother upwards.

Edward rose reluctantly. "She won't let there be more innocent victims in her place."

He listened while Jasper processed this. Jasper's memories flicked guiltily back towards that day in Phoenix.

"I'm not saying that to—"

"I know," Jasper assured him. "But I learned my lesson. Bella is not to be trusted when other lives are at stake." He didn't voice the rest of his thought, letting it be only between them.

Edward recoiled at the suggestion he distrust Bella. He'd fought too hard to gain back what he had with her. He wouldn't risk losing her to his paranoia, but he knew in his heart that Jasper wasn't wrong.

He put his hands to his hair again, growling in frustration. Their difficulties were a twisted infinity loop—all ending where they began. They needed to find Victoria, and until they did, they were only wasting time on old ground.

"We will find her eventually," Jasper said.

Edward snorted, more out of frustration than derision. These were the words he'd given Bella.

Yes, they would find Victoria. In five days. In five years. In five decades. There were no guarantees.

"And in the meantime?" he asked.

"Living in the future doesn't work very well for most of us," Jasper remarked, kicking at the dirt Edward had dislodged, smoothing it out. Taking a few steps toward the dead creatures behind them, he crouched down to begin scooping out a grave.

"So says the man with the psychic mate," Edward muttered, joining him

Jasper laughed softly. "Exactly. The present is where living happens. I don't kiss my wife tomorrow."

There was silence again. Jasper focused his mental attention on observing their surroundings as they worked side-by-side. It was the equivalent of background music for Edward: tedious and tepid, but not intrusive. This near-silence helped Edward sift through his feelings, calming him. Once they had buried the remains of his prey, and Jasper continued to camouflage their activity, Edward paced, skirting the broken trees, circling the rocks he'd crushed.

He thought of Bella and her peaceful expression as she slept, but the image turned on him abruptly. The pose was too near the look of death to be of comfort. Shaking his head, he recalled some of the mundane tasks he had taken on recently in order to care for the human family that had become his.

Something like a smile lifted the corner of his mouth as he thought of a recent grocery shopping trip with Josh. It had been a humbling experience, in some ways. And humbling experiences were new to him.

They were good for him, he mused.

Josh had refused the seat in the cart. Skipping ahead of Edward, his small charge gave his attention to what was at his eye-level: most of it tempting, little of it healthy. His mind had focused immediately on his favourite colours, all the associations matched perfectly to his preferred foods. He'd begun plucking things from the shelves, and Edward had parked the cart, kneeling down, attempting to reason with Josh about his choices.

Josh had been completely unwilling to be moved on any item, clutching the blue packet of cookies to his chest along with a bright orange box of crackers. Though Edward knew they were things Bella only rarely allowed her children to eat, he'd seen the disorder brewing in Josh's mind, and let him keep his bright treasures.

Edward felt a bit like that now: his thinking self pulled and distorted between the demands of feeling and logic. He needed to protect her. His body demanded in all its feral possessiveness that he hide her away and snap at anything that came near, but his head and heart knew her well-being rested in the normalcy of the day-to-day experience of work and home.

He both heard and felt Jasper catching up to him.

"If you set the tone in how to navigate this, she'll follow your lead. Do what you've been doing. Pretend everything is under control. Don't overreact. Be as calm as possible."

Edward eyed his brother, considering this. His ability to pretend wasn't the weak point. Would Bella give it credit?

He shook his head. "She's so stubborn, Jasper."

"You can't hear her thoughts," Jasper said.

"But I have eyes. And there are other things I sense."

"And I can sense how much she needs your full reassurance—your belief that you can all navigate this." Jasper's face and thoughts were earnest.

And there it was. The admission Edward hadn't wanted to make to anyone, including himself.

He was afraid they couldn't. The ugly memories surfaced again, and as they returned, so did his profound fear.

"You have to believe it, Edward," Jasper said, his voice earnest. "You will prevail, because we will ensure it. But you must believe it." Jasper's hand squeezed his shoulder. Peeking out from underneath his brother's surface thoughts, Edward caught a trace of Jasper's own hope: that he and Alice would be spared, in some miraculous way, their lot with the Volturi.

It was another brick loaded on the cares already weighing on Edward's shoulders. Jasper's hand felt very, very heavy.

"Of course," he whispered, trying to summon something beyond desperation, knowing that he wasn't fooling the empath beside him.

"No, no," Jasper said, "We are with you in this. You are not alone."

Not like when he'd left them before, dragging all his troubles back with him when he'd returned.

"Believe, Edward. If only for her sake, have hope. It is a choice, after all." Jasper's hand left his shoulder. "I'll leave you now. Try to be a little quieter in your musings, hmm?" A ghost of a smirk curled Jasper's lips. Normally he was the one who needed reminding of their human pretense. There was some perverse delight in being able to remind Edward now.

Edward watched his brother disappear, then sank back to his knees in the dirt, wood chips and broken rocks. In his most desperate times, he'd never given himself over to prayer. He'd never believed there was much of a point to it or that there was even anyone listening to the soulless creature he believed himself to be. He wasn't sure there was now, but there was a grain of uncertainty. It was enough for him to begin whispering to the wind his desperate supplications. If it only released his fears to some other carrier, it would be enough.

"Let me be what she needs. Let me be calm. Help me let her live fully. Let me be the man her children need. Let me guard her heart and her body. Please, let me be enough for this. Please."

There was no answer, but there was a calmness in the silence.

Slowly releasing the air in his chest, he stood and dusted himself off before setting off to close the distance between the two pieces of his heart: one silent, and one beating.

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