A/N: Thanks so much for all your wonderful thoughts.

Most characters belong to S. Meyer. The rest belong to me. So do all mistakes.

Broken – Chapter 7

'Edward…'

Instinctively, my mouth curved around her name. "Bella…"

'Edward, I'm frightened.' Her head weaved restlessly from side to side. 'I'm frightened.'

"Don't be frightened," I murmured. "You were so brave. So strong."

'Edward…stranger…lobby…you helped…'

My heart raced, equal parts hope and dread consuming me because if she remembered me, that meant I affected her as much as she affected me. But if she remembered me, that also meant she knew I'd concealed my identity from her on not one but two encounters in the coffee shop.

And yeah, while all these thoughts raced through my mind, I knew I was dreaming.

For one, we were back in that hospital room of the previous year, with Bella handcuffed to a bed, sedated, and mostly unaware of her surroundings. For another, the dream failed to follow the rules of the real world, where past events never changed. Instead, as often happens in dreams, this scene took off on a completely different tangent from how it all had originally occurred.

"Bella, do you remember me?"

Crystallized amber eyes opened and gazed up at me. At first, they were glassy, but instead of squeezing shut in confusion, the amber grew more lucid, brighter, and finally fixed in recognition.

"Edward," Bella whispered. "You came to the hospital with me. You stayed with me."

"Of course, I came. If I hadn't let go of you in that lobby, you wouldn't be here."

Bella offered me a simultaneously rueful and melancholic chuckle, lifting herself on an elbow and using her handcuffed forearm to support her weight. Long, tousled hair fell forward and over her raised shoulder like a dark, silk curtain. Reaching with her free hand, Bella lightly brushed a fingertip against the bridge of my nose. I watched the movement of her mouth as she spoke.

"Does it hurt?"

"Not at all. In fact, it feels the complete opposite of pain right now," I admitted.

She smiled, but her smile quickly faded. "Edward, you can't blame yourself for letting go of me when I broke your nose. It was instinctive."

"Holding on to you should've been my ruling instinct."

Bella's delicate throat moved as she swallowed, thinking through her words while two gentle fingers caressed the bump which had remained long after the fracture healed. Her fingers skimmed downward, and when she cradled my cheek, our eyes met once more.

"None of it was your fault, Edward. Not what happened to me…and not what happened when you were a little boy."

Her knowledge of that other event was further proof I was dreaming, yet the shame and remorse coursing through me were real enough. When I tried to break our gaze, Bella steered my eyes back to hers with gentle pressure on my cheek.

"There's nothing you could've done to stop or change either event."

I cocooned her warm hand in mine.

"Bella, maybe I couldn't have changed what happened when I was a kid, but I should've been able to stop what happened to you."

"How?" she asked softly.

"By keeping a closer eye on Alice."

"It wasn't your job to do so," she countered swiftly. "She's not your responsibility."

"Fine. How about this?" I asked with growing agitation. "I knew you existed. I'd read your articles. She'd spoken of you. I'd even heard your voice on more than one occasion – when you were getting into an elevator in her building, and when you accidentally answered her office phone. Bella…I knew you were out there somewhere. I should've looked you up, searched you out to…to warn you."

Bella quirked an eyebrow. "Edward, you wouldn't have searched me out to warn me. You would've searched me out to know me, and I was a married woman. Had we met, we would've been acquaintances at most because neither one of us would've allowed things to go further. I wouldn't have listened to any warnings from you. Emmett's right, Edward; sometimes, things are just out of your hands. You can't save the entire world," she murmured.

"I wanted to save you."

She offered me a melancholic smile. "I know you did, but I'm not your responsibility either. It's not your job to be my hero, Edward. It's why I don't remember you. I've got other things to figure out, other needs; one of which is honesty. I've been lied to enough."

"I…I just don't want to upset you with reminders. That's why I haven't told you who I am. That's all it is," I assured her fervently.

"Is that all it is?"

She angled her head sideways. For one, long moment, Bella studied me through dark, probing eyes. When she sighed and leaned in closer, the way her long hair brushed against the ivory pillow fascinated me; transfixed me until her soft lips grazed my nose. Her warm breath washed over me.

"God, I wish you were really here," I breathed raggedly.

"I know you do, but I'm not. I'm only in your head, Edward. You don't really know me. I'm just a figment of your imagination," she whispered, mouth ghosting back and forth. "I'm you talking to you. So, be honest with yourself here in your dreams if you won't be honest with me out there."

"Bella, what do you-"

Suddenly, she pulled back and met my gaze. "You're not concealing who you are for my sake. You're doing it for yours."

OOOOO

I awoke with a hand over my pounding heart and a sharp intake of breath, feeling as if all air were being sucked out of the room.

"Jesus." Sitting in bed, I folded up my legs and grabbed and pulled at my hair to dispel the images in my head…and those last, hefty words from Bella. Thankfully, in the shadowy absence of light, the memory of Bella's accusing eyes soon morphed into the glow of city lights outside the open windows. I pinched my eyes shut and waited for the throbbing in my scalp to drown out the rest.

'…it's not your job to save me…'

'…be honest with yourself…if you won't be honest with me…'

I dropped my head between my legs and groaned. "Get out of my head. You don't even remember me."

For a long while, I sat motionlessly, eyes pinched shut, and barely breathing – just like a frightened child hoping to hide from a ghost, which in my case took on the form a beautiful, unattainable woman. By the time my heart rate finally regulated to something close to normal, and her voice faded into the background of the darkness surrounding me, I was no longer tired.

Padding into the bathroom, I took a piss and washed my hands, then set the water to arctic and splashed my face. By the time I straightened, cold shivers racked my frame, but I felt fully awake.

Through the bathroom mirror, and with the city light streaming in, I vaguely made out the intertwined eagles on my chest – Celtic symbolism for strength and health which I'd gotten a few years earlier on a semi-drunken whim when out with my cousin, Jamie. He'd ended up with an intertwined eagle and raven – Celtic symbolism for freedom and for being unbound. Jamie's tattoo fit his life; his break with society's stifling norms and his freedom to be himself. Mine fit my career.

Back in the bedroom, I threw on a tee shirt and climbed back into bed with my laptop. An hour or so of work would hopefully clear my head enough so I could sleep for a bit before dawn set in.

'I'm only in your head, Edward.'

I shook my head vigorously and pulled up the last file on which I'd been working.

'Be honest with yourself if you won't be honest with me…'

Grumbling deep in my throat, I scanned the memo.

CDC Confidential

Subject: Influenza Season Trivalent and Quadrivalent Vaccine Requirements – Update

'…be honest with yourself if you won't be honest with me…'

From: Dr. Edward A. Cullen, Chief Epidemiologist, Global Disease Detection Division

To: All Medical-

For a while, I managed to lose myself in the logistics of 'saving the world,' as Emmett would phrase it. Unfortunately, once the memo was complete, exhaustion still hadn't set in. Instead of shutting the laptop and forcing myself to rest or to stare at the ceiling or even switching to another work-related task, I clicked over to a browser and opened The High Line's web-based newspaper. After a few, well-phrased search terms, I ended up with a list before me of Bella's last handful of articles as head writer for the publication, before the shit hit the wall.

I drew in a deep breath. "Fucking hell, Edward, what the hell are you doing?"

Yet, for a few moments, as I rubbed my jaw hard with my palm and stared at the bright screen framed by the dead of night, I seriously contemplated reading them.

"Screw this."

I threw aside the laptop and jumped out of bed. After a quick, cold shower, I made myself a cup of coffee and stood in the kitchen, watching the skies go from black to burgundy as I drank it. Then, I rinsed the mug, sprinted back upstairs to the bedroom, and just surrendered to the madness.

An hour later, with the sun beginning to color the sky in muted browns and purples, and with my second cup of coffee drained, I shut the laptop and dropped my head. Pinching the bumped bridge of my nose, I struggled to stave off the mounting indignation on behalf of a woman I'd barely spoken with for a total of an hour combined.

"What the fuck did he do to your head, Bella? And Jesus, fucking Alice could've told you how…bad they were before you handed them in. She could've…"

But of course, she wouldn't have. Those last few articles Bella wrote before the incident and before she was fired from the publication were nothing like those samples Alice sent me of Bella's work a few years earlier. They might as well have been written by a completely different person for how unimaginative, convoluted, preferably forgettable, and long-winded while expressing and communicating very little they were.

"This wasn't you writing these."

'You don't really know me.'

"You're right," I agreed, nostrils flaring. "You're right, Bella. I don't know you. I'm driving myself crazy over extrapolations I made based on what? Based on fifteen minutes of hell followed by ten minutes with a sedated woman in a hospital room followed by ten minutes with a woman who not only didn't remember me but who threatened to spill hot coffee on me and then another twenty minutes with a woman who exudes distrust in every word she speaks." I chuckled self-mockingly. "You're absolutely right; I don't know you. And apparently, I fucking talk to myself now too. I'm done with this."

And with a final, sardonic and self-deprecating snort, I slammed shut the laptop and got up to start my day with a run, determined to finally, once and for all, clear my head of Isabella Hale/Bella Swan.

OOOOO

I spent the next few days keeping myself occupied. Fortunately, there was always something going on at work, diseases threatening to spread in one corner of the world or another and decimate the population, all that fun stuff. The influenza season in the northeast was in full swing, and we at the CDC were monitoring the efficacy of the vaccine approved and dispersed that season. So far, the vaccine appeared to cover the strains which were presenting themselves, though some years, that could be tricky.

In the northwest, we were monitoring an increase in cases of the measles – not a large increase, but we had to keep an eye on it to ensure it remained that way and to reduce those cases. In fact, Emmett, Maria, and I were considering a trip up to Washington State to study the issue closer, perhaps disseminate educational information into the public and medical communities.

Washington…

Or maybe not. Maybe I'd pass that job off to another team. It probably wouldn't be a good idea to take another job with Maria right now anyway.

Of course, there was more to the world than the U.S. and its prevalent diseases. The Yellow Fever season in Madagascar would soon begin. Unfortunately, it was expected to be a bad one based on the sharp increase of cases the year before from a region previously rid of the disease. I had a request on my desk for CDC assistance into an investigation as to why that region suddenly spiked in cases. The UK was reporting a drug-resistant strain of gonorrhea, which UK nationals were contracting in Ibiza. I had another request on my desk for CDC assistance into an investigation about what the hell was going on in Ibiza. In addition, there were now twenty reported cases to the CDC over the past eighteen months of a potentially deadly blood infection in individuals, including Canadian and U.S. citizens. So far, most of these individuals shared the commonality of having booked invasive surgery procedures in Tijuana, Mexico, through the same medical tourism travel agency. Then, there was the Avian Flu in China.

Yeah, I had plenty to keep my mind from wandering.

So, I ran in the mornings, patronized the Starbucks around the corner from my place for my post-run coffee, spent a few hours at work, and then either worked some more in the evenings or hung out with a few friends.

One evening, Em and I were finishing up some quick planning before leaving the office.

"Well, I vote for the Tijuana job," Emmett said.

"You would vote for that one," I snorted as I gathered up my papers.

He chuckled heartily. "We can go to Baja, San Diego-"

I looked up at him. "You know, sometimes I get the sense that you consider these jobs more vacations than a chance to stop a deadly disease in its tracks."

"Why can't it be both?" he shrugged with an impish grin. "Ed, we can't make ourselves seem too indispensable. Otherwise, we won't have any time left over for surfing in Baja and Coronado."

I slid a few file folders I'd probably need later into my bag, hefted it over my shoulder, and smirked up at him.

"If we go, I'll leave the surfing to you this time."

"'If?' What do you mean 'if?'" he asked as we made our way to the lobby. "It's the perfect job for us – and I'm not just saying that because of the surfing op, I swear. Ed!" he called out when I kept walking. I turned around.

He offered me a hesitant frown. "Is this…because of that woman?"

"What woman?" I said, knowing full well what woman.

"You know very well what woman. Bella," he stage-whispered at my continued silence.

"No. It has nothing to do with her. I just…" I raked a hand through my hair. "These jobs…you said yourself a couple of weeks ago, we're way past these. Even that Vegas job could've been handled by a lower level team."

"The Vegas job was your idea."

"I know."

He studied me, and I pulled on my collar.

"Are you still-"

"I haven't seen her. I mean, yeah, I went back once and spoke to her-"

"Fucking hell, Edward…" he sucked his teeth and groaned. "You're a glutton for punishment, you know that right?"

"-but I'm done. You're right. It was pointless, and…I don't even know what type of person she really is, and there's no point in finding out. I haven't seen her in a few days. I've been visiting Starbucks," I said, making a face.

Emmett chuckled quietly. "Okay." He nodded slowly. "Okay, good. So…the Tijuana job? Or Madagascar. Or China." He lifted a careless shoulder. "Any of them. I just think going away for a bit might help you clear-"

"We'll prioritize tomorrow and set the jobs in front of the director."

He held my gaze for a few seconds, then patted my shoulder. "So, Ed, you want to get a couple of beers?" he asked while we walked toward the elevators. "I'm taking that woman across the hall, you know, the one who studies the STD's – Siobhan – to dinner tonight, but I've got a couple of hours before I've got to get home and beautify myself."

I looked up at his man-bun and rolled my eyes. "You're going to need a couple of hours just to make that beehive look decent."

"You're just jealous because this," – he pointed at his bun – "would so not suit you."

"Whatever. So, the STD woman finally said yes to you?"

"Fucking finally," he breathed. "Took her long enough."

"Maybe all those STD jokes you always make kind of turned her off? I'd steer clear of any tonight, especially over dinner."

He chuckled heartily as the elevator arrived and we stepped in. "Yeah. Maybe. So, beers?"

"Can't. My mom and Jamie asked me to stop by after work."

At this, Emmett broke out into fits of laughter so raucous the elevator shook, and he didn't quit until the elevator doors opened up onto the ground floor lobby.

"Have fun modeling next year's House of EMC's Male Collection," he said, snickering over his shoulder as he walked out.

I shot him a middle finger.

OOOOO

"Edward, sweetheart."

Esme offered me a somewhat nervous smile as she lifted herself on her slippered feet and kissed my cheek.

"Hey, Mom. What's up?"

"Well…"

"Ed, my man!" Jamie called out as he approached. We offered one another one-armed hugs.

"How's it going, Jamie?"

He grinned. "Can't complain. I've had a bout of inspiration, and I've got some great stuff in the back for you to try on!"

"Can't wait," I said sarcastically, making him laugh.

As a first cousin, James Masen and I shared a few physical characteristics, mainly our copper hair and green eyes. But Jamie was a handful of years older and a handful of inches shorter than me. No big deal. However, as Esme Masen Cullen's Design Assistant in charge of the fashion line's male offerings, James typically needed an at-least-six-foot-frame on which to model his ideas. I'd volunteered once as a joke, half drunk. Unfortunately, Jamie hadn't been the least bit drunk and now had no compunction about hounding me every year until I gave in.

"It's your own fault, cuz," Jamie said unsympathetically, "for being born so tall, dark, and handsome. Why you waste your God-given talents chasing diseases around the world is beyond me."

"I'd like to think I have some talent in that area as well," I said with a straight face. The back and forth banter was common between my favorite cousin and me.

"Aha!" Jamie grinned. "Then, you finally admit that you, Edward Anthony Masen Cullen, embody all the best physical characteristics of both the Masen and Cullen-"

I cut him off with a laugh. "I acknowledge no such thing."

"But you just said 'as well!' That's an acknowledgment of your flawless perf- wait a minute, cuz, what the heck happened to your nose?"

My mom stood between us.

"Jamie sweetheart, like you, Edward is wonderful at many things." When she gently brushed my nose, for a moment, it took me back to that dream a few nights earlier, and to someone else's gentle touch. But I quickly forced my focus back to the here and now. "And even with his slightly crooked nose, he's still extremely handsome," Esme continued with a tender smile. "Honey, I was trying to call you. Did you get my texts?"

"I don't know, Mom." I pulled off my backpack and searched for my phone. "I took the subway and there's no service, so-"

Loud, angry voices interrupted my train of thought, erupting from further within my parents' large, Upper East Side duplex. The voices carried from the west wing, the direction of my father's home office, which was opposite my mom's home studio on the east wing. It didn't take much guessing to discern the owners of the voices nor to catch on to the topic of conversation.

"You've been fighting more and more with that man, and every time you do you seem to think you can just come here and drop off-"

"I need time to clear my head! And he's your grandson!"

"He's your son! I love him, of course, I do, but he's your responsibility, Alice!"

"I know that! You think I don't know that?"

Jamie sighed and bounced on the balls of his feet.

"As you can hear, it's been an…interesting afternoon around here."

"Edward," Esme said, "I tried to tell you she was here, in case you didn't want to…I wanted to give you the option of-"

"It's okay." I shrugged it off and made my way toward my mom's studio. "We're going to be in the studio anyway, right?"

However, as I turned the corner out of the foyer and into the living room, I encountered something unusual.

There was a playpen in the living room. Inside the playpen was a small form, laying on its back. It was covered with a blue blanket, from which stuck out a pair of chunky arms and a set of fat legs splayed out in what appeared an awkward position. Curled wisps of blond hair stuck also stuck up here and there from the top of the blanket. When I approached, his eyes were closed, and his lips puckered.

It was the first time I'd seen the boy. If I recalled correctly, he'd been born while I was in Brazil. What was that – March? It made him about six months old now.

"Meet little Jasper James," my mom said with an irrepressible smile in her voice. "He's a sweetheart."

"And as you can see," Jamie added, "he sleeps through anything, which really makes him a sweetheart."

"But is he comfortable?" I wondered. "He's got those arms and legs bent in weird positions."

"He's quite comfortable," Esme chuckled. "That's how babies sleep. He's an angel, but your father's right. She's been fighting with that man more and more and…" her voice took on a glacial tone, "and Elizabeth won't watch him because she says she's already raised one child. And Alice can't just barge in and expect us to-"

When the boy whimpered, we all went still.

Another whimper. Those arms and legs flailed, kicked off the covers. The eyes blinked…blinked…and opened.

"Crap," Jamie whispered. "He's awake."

The boy held my gaze.

"Hey." A slow grin formed on my face at the intensity of his focus. It reminded me of-

I shook off the thought. "Hey, kiddo."

The boy kept on staring. He had huge blue eyes, though they weren't Alice's eyes. These had a different shape, more oval; darker. I vaguely recalled the fucker…the father had similar eyes.

Out of the blue, the staring morphed into murderous howls.

"What the…" I breathed. "What happened?"

"He's hungry, that's all," my mom said. "And he probably needs his diaper changed."

All the while, the shouting match across the hall continued, competing with the howls in here.

"Alice put a couple of bottles in the fridge," Esme said over the loud din. "I'll go warm one up."

Jamie and I remained, staring into the crib at the boy who kept screaming, while Alice and my father continued fighting.

"Do you think one of us should pick him-"

"Uhm, hold on, Ed." Jamie lifted a finger in the air and pulled his silent, unlit cell phone out of his back pocket. "Yeah. Yeah, this is an important phone call," he said, staring at a black screen. "I'll have to take it in the studio."

"Yeah, fucking liar," I muttered at his retreating, snickering backside.

When the kid kept crying, I sighed and gave the playpen a bit of a shake.

"It's okay. It's all right, Kid. Grandma's bringing your milk, and your mom 'll be here soon to pick you…or your dad 'll…or your grandpa might…Kid, you're screwed," I smirked, shaking my head.

The boy's blood-curdling shrieks intensified. "Shit. Sorry, sorry," I hissed repentantly. "That was pretty messed up of me."

With no other apparent choice, I drew in a deep breath, leaned over, and after a couple of awkward twists and turns of my arms, I managed to place one hand behind his head and one behind his backside. Then, with the utmost care, because I had no damn idea what I was doing, I lifted the boy out of the playpen.

The kid…the boy…Jasper James Junior…my nephew instantly calmed. Those big blue eyes locked on mine once again, now shiny and glassy with tears. His small chest heaved with an intensity that seemed too acute for such a minuscule body part. His entire frame was soft and malleable, yet it had a strength, a stocky hardiness to it. When he offered me a toothless smile, I found myself smiling in return.

"Hey." My arms formed an instinctive cradle and began a bouncing motion of their own volition, gently swinging from side to side in a way that seemed to soothe him if the strange, unintelligible gurgles he made were any indication. Nonetheless, they weren't screams or whimpers, which all in all I took as a good sign, especially when his smile grew.

"Yeah," I grinned. "You like that, don't you?" He offered me more unintelligible gibberish in reply. "Do you know who I am, kiddo? Do you? No? I'm your Uncle Edward."

Babbling.

"Yeah. Yeah, that's right. I know we haven't met before, but I was away for a bit, and…"

And your mother and I can't tolerate one another. And your father's an asshole. And somewhere out there, there's a woman who wanted you to be hers, and…

"Hey," I said, refocusing, "you're a cute kid."

The ensuing sound resembled a giggle, but I couldn't be sure.

"Maybe one of these days, we can-"

There was a rush of air, a door being yanked open, and an "Alice, get back here!" before a set of heels click-clacked noisily across the hall.

"I'll be back in a couple of hours. I need to clear my head."

"You cannot keep doing this, young lady! Alice!"

The heels kept up their furious pace and came to a sudden halt behind me.

"Edward?"

Sighing internally, I kept my eyes on the boy.

"Edward…son," my father said.

"Dad," I replied evenly, slowly lowering the boy back into his playpen.

"What the hell are you doing?" Alice asked.

"It was good to meet you…JJ," I said, ensuring his soft head and back touched the mattress before I let go.

"Yeah, if you won't even speak to me, then set down my son. I don't need you poisoning him," Alice spat.

"Alice, Edward would never do that," I heard my father say.

Settling the boy carefully and repositioning the blanket on top of him, I smiled when he muttered his gibberish and flailed his arms and legs.

"You good?" While he babbled some more, I drew in a breath and turned slowly toward his mother.

My sister was always an attractive woman. I could see it in that way you vaguely note your sibling's looks. And hey, she'd never lacked for boyfriends, so I supposed. She had the blond hair and blue eyes some men admired. A good figure, I supposed again. She'd given birth about six months ago, and from this distance, at least, it appeared she'd regained her pre-pregnancy frame.

However, I hadn't seen her in about a year, and in that year, she'd gotten older. Not in the normal, passage-of-time sense, no. As I said, I hadn't seen her in about a year, and Alice looked tired - the bags-under-eyes, deep-set-lines-on-forehead, pinched-lips type of tired.

In other words, Alice appeared as if she'd had a rough year.

On the heels of that thought came another thought – a memory. My mind involuntarily took flight to someone from whom I'd struggled to keep it for days now, while second-hand indignation roared. A fucking rough year, I snorted to myself. Who'd really had the fucking rough year? And whose fault was her rough year, from beginning to end?

As the scientist in me reared his head, the man who extrapolated, I took a couple of steps forward.

"Let me ask you something, Alice."

"Oh, the perfect Doctor Edward Cullen does plan to address me?"

"Only because I recently came across something that's made me curious."

"Edward…" There was a tone of warning in my father's voice. "Son-"

"You know what they say about curiosity, dear big brother. It killed the cat – or in your case," Alice sneered, "it broke his nose."

"Alice," Carlisle said sharply.

I ignored her taunting. "Yeah, it's related to that shit show last year. I happened to come across the last articles your old friend," I spat the word, "- the woman whose husband you stole? Remember her? – wrote before she was fired from that shitty publication where you're now head writer."

"It's not shitty," she snapped, "and how the hell did you happen to-"

"I've been wondering, why didn't you tell her that her articles weren't up to par, that they were nowhere near the quality of writing she used to hand in?"

Her blue eyes narrowed. "How would you know what her writing used to be like? Her writing was always shit."

"No, it wasn't," I contradicted through gritted teeth. "You sent me a few of her articles once when you first started working there. Remember?"

She blinked a handful of times. "Oh. Whatever. Anyway, how the hell was it my job to measure the quality of her writing? If she suddenly started writing garbage, it wasn't my fault."

"Wasn't it?" I scowled. "You were screwing her husband."

"Edward," my father sighed.

"She didn't know that," Alice smirked as bluntly and shamelessly as ever.

I held her gaze. "She may not have known the particulars, but I'm sure she knew something was wrong. Did the editor, Michael Newton, warn her that her work was slipping?"

She shrugged. "How the hell would I know, and how the hell is it any of your-"

"Again, you were her friend," I grinned. "You would've known because she would've confided in you."

She offered me silence and another shrug in reply.

"And what did you say?" I took another couple of steps forward. "Did you tell her to ignore him? That he was just stupid or picky, or that he didn't know what he was talking about?"

"You still enjoy reading everyone so well, don't you, Edward?" she scoffed.

"And then did you go to Michael with a little smile on your face and tell him how you warned your friend that her writing was slipping, but she refused to do anything about it? Maybe you told him she said Michael was an idiot anyway. Did you slip some of your own articles under his nose while you were at it? Might as well, right?"

"I can read you too, Edward!"

"So, who's the poisonous one, Alice?" I asked.

"You're empty! You're a sad, empty sack of shit of a man with no life, which is why you constantly stick your nose in mine!"

"My point is, Alice, you're the one who needs to be careful about spreading poison into that poor kid. At least for his sake, try to-"

"Fuck you! Don't tell me how to raise my son! Why don't you disappear to another country again and do your investigating over there and stay out of my life! Better yet, why don't you drop-"

"ALICE! ENOUGH!" My mom shouted, baby bottle in hand. "Jesus, for your son's sake, grow the hell up!"

For one, long moment, the five of us – six if one counted the quiet baby…stood silent, shocked by the sudden outburst by a woman who usually tried her best to remain composed.

"He's a sweet kid, Alice," I finally said. "Seriously, do your best to keep him that way."

She opened her mouth and quickly shut it. Then, with a scowl for me, Alice turned on her heels and stormed out of the apartment – leaving her son behind.

Esme sighed and looked at my father. "So, after all that, she went ahead and left him."

Carlisle looked more tired and older than I remembered him. He raked a hand through his hair.

"What can we do, Esme? We can't abandon him. He's an innocent baby."

Esme nodded. "He is an innocent baby, and I completely agree that we can't abandon him. So, I'm going to feed the little man, burp him, and then you're going to change his diaper and take care of him until his mother decides to return. Jamie and I are under deadlines."

"Esme, I've got a conference call at-"

"Carlisle, for years, I tried to be a real mother to Alice, which included disciplining her when necessary. Yet, time and again you bowed down to her every whim and made it clear your word regarding her discipline was final, and I made the mistake of accepting that because…" my mom choked, "well, no point in getting into that now. The point is after I feed him, you're taking care of little JJ until Alice picks him up."

And with that, my mom picked up JJ and walked out of the room.

Carlisle pinched his eyes shut and exhaled. When he reopened them, they landed on me.

"Good to see you, old man," I said before Jamie and I headed for Esme's studio.

OOOOO

The next morning after my run, I happened to-

No. The next morning during my run, I ran past the coffee shop and caught sight of Bella through the storefront window. She wasn't hard to spot, easily the most beautiful being in there with the sun's rays dancing like a crown over her raven hair. She looked like a queen on her throne – or like a focused woman at her laptop. Her eyes were narrowed but without any of the lines around them which my sister had suddenly developed. Yes, her forehead was furrowed, but I knew…I remembered how smooth it was when she wasn't focused so intently on her laptop. Plump lips moved around words I couldn't hear…but words which might as well have been a siren's call.

Drawing in a breath and exhaling in surrender, I pulled open the door, and as I walked inside, I promised myself that this time, I'd tell her the truth. I'd remind her who I was, my real identity beyond an unknown "Edward" or a simple "Stranger," so that she could decide whether she wanted to get to know me, whether I got to really know her...or not.

A/N: Thoughts?

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"See" you soon! :)

***Btw, to the reviewer who found the conversation in Chapter 6, between Bella and the old couple in the coffee shop to be completely unrealistic…that's because it wasn't real. If you'll recall, Edward was on the other side of the room/coffee shop and couldn't hear what they were saying. Therefore, as he states, he made up the entire conversation in his head based on their gestures. That's why the convo was in italics. :)