Friendship

Heart vs. head: Crispin's new attachment.

Crispin was making a new section in his little notebook. Speculations. It was a small section. He didn't expect it to hold much, only a list of what he knew so far. He took a minute to observe Sera. She had crashed like an airplane with engine failure, out like a light. But he was glad she was taking the time to sleep. It would get her back on her feet sooner.

She was surprisingly lovely, her dark, wild hair spread over the pillow, framing her sharp, fierce face. She was like a mischievous wood-sprite come down from the mountains to enchant him and lure him away with those intense, lightning eyes.

Crispin sighed. When had he started thinking of her as pretty?

Bother.

He directed his focus back to his book and started writing again. He'd be out of ink by tomorrow morning at the rate things were going.

1. Hidden from Alice

Alice could not see Sera in precognitive visions. This was probably the most important thing. It linked her to the Quileute shapeshifters because they were the only creatures Crispin knew of that Alice couldn't see. And now that he knew where she'd come from … well, she certainly wasn't Quileute. It still left the option that she might be like them, somehow. A similar anomaly. Maybe it had something to do with her ancient bloodline … ?

2. Silent to Edward

Crispin grinned in spite of himself. He'd been so reluctant to let Edward read her mind. And for what? The old eavesdropper couldn't even hear her. Crispin could have wriggled with delight. The silence made Edward nervous, understandably, but he couldn't judge. His own mate had been silent to him for most of her life. Only within the past few years had Bella learned to open her thoughts to her not-so-young husband.

Crispin wasn't sure how Sera's mental silence tied into the mystery of what she was. It was still important, all things besides. It was one of her abilities, perhaps, next to the ability to hide herself from psychics like Alice. She might not even be doing it consciously.

3. Prehistoric bloodline

Perhaps the key to it all. The prehistoric Europeans had been dark-skinned and light-eyed as Sera was, which satisfactorily explained the odd combination of traits visible in her now. Those ancient people had lived as hunter-gatherer tribes before and just after the latest glacial retreat thousands of years ago. How Sera seemed to carry their bloodline so perfectly in the modern day was a baffling mystery. The old hunter-gatherers had disappeared with the arrival of agriculture. Thousands of years ago.

If her ability to avoid Alice's and Edward's powers was linked to her ancestry, like the Quileute shapeshifters, it might have stemmed from those ancient people, now extinct. Crispin had questions. He'd have to ask later … if he could find a way to ask at all without giving away what he was learning. He'd been lucky to get her ancestry out of her in the first place.

4. Miraculous survival?

How had she gotten out of dying in that accident? Some power of hers, maybe, or sheer luck? Or maybe divine intervention? Angels?

Crispin still needed to visit the scene of the accident. There was the one eyewitness, too. He needed to have a little chat with that mortal. Crispin made a reminder note to visit the general store. He hadn't done it this morning because he'd been so busy packing books and being with Sera. No more delays. He had to get there before they cleaned it all up, if they hadn't done so already.

5. Link to red fire

It had been present at the scene of the accident, according to the eyewitness. Again, Crispin needed to find and interrogate the mortal. Maybe Carlisle could arrange something.

6. Odd scent: smoky?

He'd only noticed it during today's visit, when he'd been so focused on connecting her to the shapeshifters. The scent had always been there, very faint and almost unrecognizable. Crispin had subconsciously assumed it was just the leftover odor of the accident and the red fire that had been witnessed during the event, but now he wasn't sure. It reminded him vaguely of the meat-smokers that people sometimes brought camping with them into the forest. There was a hint of spice. It was almost … appealing.

But that was probably because she was human. Humans smelled tasty. They simply did.

At any rate, she didn't smell like wet dog. She wasn't a Quileute shapeshifter.

Crispin leaned back in his seat, capping his pen. It was a small, pitiful list, but it was better than nothing. Now he needed to be patient. Answers would come. After all, Sera wasn't going anywhere. They'd have plenty of time to chat around her naps.

And until she woke up … Crispin set his laptop back in his lap and woke the screen with a brush of his fingertips over the mousepad. He started looking for DNA testing kits. Somebody needed to have her genetics done.

Caring for Sera's fragile, mortal body was a full time job. The nurses were helpful, but Crispin found himself wanting to do more, to take up some of the chores. He started looking for things he could do, wanting to be with her wherever possible. She drew him like a moth to flame.

Or maybe it was like a cheetah to a newborn antelope. He, of course, being the cheetah. And she made for a very feisty newborn antelope.

Crispin spent the first day learning what Sera could eat, starting with chicken noodle soup and soda crackers, graduating to salmon and then small bites of potato by the end of the second day. She hadn't been lying about the appetite—she was ravenous. Crispin quickly learned not to be too worried about her stomach. It was stronger than he'd thought it would be.

Sera couldn't stand on her own. The dizziness from the concussion was the biggest problem, but then there was her injured leg. It was heavily bruised and didn't like to bear weight. Crispin worried that the bones were full of micro-fractures until Carlisle, tired of listening to him fret, showed him the x-rays. It really was just bruised. The muscles needed to heal.

Crispin was allowed to carry Sera to the bathroom only once on the first day. He was grateful for Carlisle's insistence on dressing her in a wrap-around, bathrobe-like patient gown, one that kept her well-covered in front and back, but that was held together with neat little snaps so they could open her sleeves to get to the IV's. It saved them both a great deal of discomfort, and Sera seemed remarkably at home in it, more than Crispin had expected. What it did not do was prevent her from furiously blushing at his touch. She warmed his undead flesh without meaning to. He could feel the intense heat of mammalian life generated by her living frame, and it was weirdly pleasant. Not in a snackable way, as he had expected it to be to his inner bloodsucking monster. In a … sweet way. A happy way.

He didn't get to carry her much after that first trip to the bath, because she wanted to walk by herself and shrieked like an angry cougar when he tried to pick her up again. He wasn't sure why she was so insistent upon using her own faltering legs when she'd so liked being in his arms before. Maybe she just needed some autonomy. She wasn't explaining anything, so Crispin assumed she just wanted space. Sera eventually resorted to leaning on him and hobbling along, sweating at the pain and difficulty. It seemed to please her to make it there on her own feet. Crispin tried not to worry. Maybe her injured leg was like her stomach—tougher than it looked. It was hard to ignore her sweating at the pain, but she wouldn't consent to anything else, so he let her walk, internally wincing the whole while.

She got a bath on that first day, which she seemed happy about. The nurses promised Crispin they'd keep her from drowning as he carried her to the bathroom, and he reminded her to stay awake as he set her on the rug by the tub. He'd gotten her classic scowl in response to that, although he could've sworn there was a perk to it, almost a smile.

When she emerged, clean and fragrant with soap perfume, wrapped in a new bathrobe-hospital gown and looking ready to nap again, Crispin hesitantly sniffed the air around her as he replaced her in her bed. The soap fragrance almost covered it up, but he could still pick up that faint, crispy odor beside her usual human taistiness. She no longer smelled of sweat and gasoline, which meant that the linger of the accident was gone. The smoky scent was definitely part of her. Crispin took note.

Between meals and sleeping, Sera wanted to talk. She couldn't read Crispin's books, yet, with her trembling hands and unsteady, concussion-wrecked vision. But she could still think, and she teased him viciously. She jabbed him about his handwriting, playfully demanding to know how long he practiced it each day. He knew she liked it. She kept asking him to title her notebook pages, as though she couldn't do it herself. She teased him about his family, swearing it had to cost them a fortune to keep everyone fed, her lightning eyes blazing with laughter.

It was when she said things like this that Crispin got nervous. The way she danced around his vampiric secrets as though she knew they were there, prodding at his eye color, his diet, his cold, white skin. Crispin was getting more certain by the hour that she knew the truth.

Why didn't she say anything? To him or to the nurses? She was relentless, dropping hints that she knew things she shouldn't. She never made it certain, always twisting the topic of conversation away from the sensitive at the last possible moment, playing innocent while challenging him with those fiery blue eyes.

And if she knew … why wasn't she afraid of him? The question nagged, ceaselessly, and Crispin was sorely tempted to ask straight-up if she knew about vampires. If she knew of the monster that he kept concealed inside him, she should have been a little more afraid of him. Maybe she was too brave for her own good. Maybe she found him too interesting, the way he did her. Crispin was often sharply aware of the warmth that congregated in her throat and face whenever they touched. Blushing. She was blushing underneath that warm brown skin. It was a problem, and Crispin tried to remind himself of that. She was fragile, she didn't need to be close to him. But he liked it, truthfully. He couldn't pretend that he didn't.

And, stupidly, he couldn't tell himself no.

He ranted to himself when he was alone that he absolutely had to do it. He had to say no. He was wrong to play the tempter, to allow himself to be tempted. If Sera really didn't know the truth about his secret monster, it would be better to keep her wondering at his odd traits than to tell her. She could wonder and speculate all she liked if she didn't know … the ignorance would keep her safe …

If she was ignorant. Which it really looked like she wasn't! Crispin was desperately exasperated with himself. His usual sharp decisiveness had disappeared. His confidence in every thought and reasoning had wavered. He was nervous, and he constantly second-guessed himself. Sera had done something to him. It was infuriating.

Unfortunately for Crispin's logical side, spending time with Sera was pure pleasure. Even though she'd lost some of her memory, much of it appeared to remain intact, and she wielded what knowledge she had retained with savage competence. Crispin could see her testing him, trying to stretch him to his limits to see what was going on in his head. While he'd initially been excited to have deep conversations with her, he found her insistence a little overwhelming and nerve-wracking. It was exciting, but scary. For example, she once dragged him into a heated debate over her breakfast on the fifth morning of her hospital stay about the Theory of Evolution. She shocked him as he tried to explain in his usual confident way why it had been accepted in scientific circles. She beat on him at every turn, challenging everything he said, startling him with faulty old arguments against the old theory, which he had to refute in careful detail. She had been daring him to win with her lightening eyes. Crispin had been very confused. He had been totally convinced that she was actually against the theory, which seemed completely unlike her. Then, at the end of it all, she happily congratulated him on his success, diving into her creamed wheat for the day, explaining that she'd purposefully played the devil's advocate just to see how well he could fight back. This, according to her, he had done admirably.

It was cruel, sometimes, but invigorating. The more she did this, the happier she seemed to be with him. Crispin quickly learned to react appropriately to her challenges whenever they came up, submitting himself to her tests, knowing when she was playing the devil's advocate. He always seemed to pass them. She became less fierce the more days went by, relaxing into teasing. Crispin liked the teasing. He found it very amusing, and much less intimidating than the rigorous tests. Also, she was much more willing to think in parallel with him when she wasn't trying to test him. They worked swimmingly when she was willing to do so.

She listened to his messy ideas about fire on the seventh day, after a brief but scary quiz on a bunch of the major fauna native to the Rocky Mountains, most of which she thankfully hadn't retained her memory of. She took his napalm discussion extremely seriously, watching him with sharp, alert eyes while he described his thoughts. It was difficult to explain why he was so interested in fire when he couldn't say a word about Alice's visions. He ended up lying, claiming he'd dreamed about it, which earned a surprising, suspiciously timed smirk. He tried to tell himself it was just a coincidence. There was no way she knew that he was a vampire and therefore didn't sleep. No way on earth that she could know.

Was there?

"I think you'd best look at strontium nitrate," she said, when he'd finished explaining what he'd looked at so far. "That's the classic way to produce red flame."

"I did," said Crispin, helplessly. "But they only use it for pyrotechnic displays. It doesn't have a very practical use."

Sera quirked a dark eyebrow at him. She had been twirling his latest fountain pen—a blue resin one—in her hands and now fixed him with a long look. "Why would that matter?"

Crispin's stomach bound itself into a stony knot. "Because … because … it's got to be more important than fireworks. Why else would I dream about it?" But he could see she'd caught him in a snare. Uh oh.

Sera's eyebrow quirked higher. Her lip curled into a playful smirk, but it was a little frightening. "Oh, Crispin. I didn't think you were of a … superstitious sort. The mystics seemed a little too imprecise for your tastes." She was putting it lightly. Crispin gulped. She had him. Somehow, she knew he was lying. Sera laughed softly, setting the gleaming blue pen in her lap. "Look, I don't see why you're so worried about it. It's some fireworks fire. What else? You've got your answer. Strontium nitrate. Seems to me like you'd have had your answer on your first day of research. What are you really looking for?"

Crispin held his tongue between his teeth, trying desperately to come up with something, his mind frantically racing. Visions? Nightmares? He couldn't pretend he was a mystic. Stupid! What had he been thinking? Of course she'd seen straight through it. She knew him enough by now.

Then he was blessedly rescued by Carlisle, who popped in with a clipboard to check up on the unfortunate little truck accident victim. "Hello, Sera. Good morning."

She scowled a little, greeting the doctor in her usual grumpy fashion. Crispin relaxed. He felt himself sink a little deeper into his chair. Oh, thank heaven for Carlisle. "I'm fine," said Sera. "My leg still kills, and I'm annoyed I don't have my hand back yet."

Carlisle lightly laughed. "Oh, Sera. These things take time. Patience. You'll have your hand back soon. And your memory, we hope." He raised an inquisitive blond eyebrow at her. Crispin shyly fiddled with the pages of his notebook, still trying to calm down after being snared. He noticed the doctor's eyes—they were darkening, leaning toward a grayish tinge at the edges of his irises. He was getting thirsty. Of course, it wouldn't bother Carlisle in the slightest to be thirsty where humans were concerned. He had spent hundreds of years perfecting his control to awe-inspiring levels. Crispin quietly envied him.

The doctor gently performed the usual checkup, checking the motion of Sera's wounded shoulder, observing the clicking cervical vertebrae, checking to see how her bruised leg muscles were coming along. Crispin winced at the clicking in her neck. It still needed fixed. "Have you tried reading much yet?" Carlisle asked.

"A little. It gives me a headache. Crispin won't let me have his books."

"Well, I told him to keep your load down. We don't want you to strain your eyes."

Sera grumbled roughly under her breath. Crispin started. Had she just … used a different language? It hadn't been one he recognized, if so. He made a subconscious mental note. He would have put it in his notebook, but she still had a hold of his pen. Carlisle observed the cut on the top of her head. "I think it's about time to take out these stitches."

Sera muttered something that sounded like, "thank the mother sun," and then said, "I was getting pretty sick of washing my hair around them … will they bleed when you pull them out?" Her eyes flicked up to Crispin. She held his gaze for longer than he would have liked. He clenched his teeth, averting his eyes, pretending to fiddle with the ribbon bookmark in his notebook. Oh, bother. This was not boding well.

"They may bleed a little," Carlisle said, warily. He glanced at Crispin. They held eye contact for a moment. Somebody was going to have to make an excuse for Crispin to leave. Carlisle seemed to think about it for a second, and then he said, "Ah, Crispin! Will you please fetch Sera some fresh water? I think she'll need it after her breakfast …"

Well, it wasn't the strongest excuse in the world, but it would do. "Of course, sir." Crispin was on his feet and out the door with Sera's plastic hospital mug in hand before anyone could say another word. It was good to get away from her intense, lightening eyes. The long, penetrating look she'd given him had made his legs feel like jelly—something that he, as a vampire, found disconcerting and alarming. He wasn't used to being weak in the knees.

She knew things. Her eyes told him so.

Carlisle would use the scissors in the cupboard to snip the stitches out. Crispin could find something to distract himself in the meantime. Preferably something relaxing. Sera was simply all kinds of trouble.

When he came back a safe half hour later, the smell of blood had already started to clear away. Carlisle had cracked open a window to let the air in. Sera was patiently blinking while a nurse applied a soothing ointment to the top of her head where the gash lay. Crispin was taken aback by the lingering blood odor in the room. It was potently smoky. His stony insides wriggled with instinctive understanding. She didn't smell human.

"Thank you, Crispin." Carlisle came to him and took the newly filled mug. He delivered it to Sera, who took a long drink. Her empty cereal bowl was on her bedside table. Crispin sidled along to the wall, wanting to keep his distance from her, worried that her blood-scent would be overpowering. He was also a little afraid she'd snare him again, maybe this time about escaping the bloody situation that had unfolded in his absence.

But she seemed distracted. Her hands were busy with the blue pen. She turned it over, holding it up in front of her sprite-like face at an angle. Crispin watched curiously for a moment before he suddenly realized what she was doing—she was watching the chatoyancy of the resin in the light that spilled in through the newly opened window. She slowly turned the pen over in her little brown fingers, staring as it shimmered. Crispin smiled. His heart was light, and he tingled with a strange, unfamiliar kind of amusement. It took him a moment to place it—he thought she was cute.

Huh.

He hesitantly moved closer, interested, as Dr. Cullen and the nurse backed off, about to return to their duties. Carlisle paused to watch Crispin, probably checking that he still had a grip on himself when he was near the scent of blood, even though it had been washed out by the fresh forest air. Sera's eyes flicked up to his. Crispin tilted his head. "You like that kind of resin?"

She pursed her lips and blushed. It was hard to see under her brown skin, but the warmth that radiated from her face and throat was unmistakable. Crispin double-checked that he had a firm grip on his thirst. Constant vigilance. Even around humans that didn't smell entirely human. "I like shiny things," she admitted, almost grudgingly. Crispin smiled.

"Any shiny thing?"

Sera surprised him by nodding, seriously. "Yep, pretty much. Clean wine glasses, abalone, anything silvery no matter how cheap it is … rocks with silicate in them. You know how rocks will sometimes sparkle in the light if they've been broken … and I like shiny pens." Her gaze focused deep into his eyes. Crispin raised an eyebrow.

"I didn't know that."

She shrugged a little, setting the pen in her lap and pointedly not looking at it. "It's … just a silly collector's thing. A hobby. I've got way too many rocks."

Crispin smiled. This was very cute. He was glad to hear her using her long-term memory. He suddenly had a completely wild idea, once that caught him off guard. What if he got her a piece of jewelry? She liked shiny things. Something silver, maybe, with a red pendant to pair up with her skin … Crispin was suddenly seized by the impulse to ask her about it. But he instantly panicked inside, terrified by the very thought, and quashed the idea under excuses. No, no, he wanted it to be a surprise. Yes, a surprise. He couldn't ask her. It would give it away. Yes.

"Ah … Crispin?"

Carlisle was still there. Crispin glanced up at the doctor, coming to. " Yes?"

"Could you please come to my office? I'd like to have a word."

Crispin blinked rapidly. He glanced down at Sera. She'd cocked her head, curiously observing the doctor. Crispin didn't like those intelligent eyes. His stomach did itself in a knot. She saw too much. He could see the gears turning behind that intense gaze. Nope. Very bad. She wasn't safe.

"Yessir," said Crispin, hastily, and he practically scrambled from the room. Carlisle promised to have Sera's new friend back within the hour and closed the door behind him. He glanced down the hall both ways and jerked his head toward his office, where they'd be safely out of earshot. Crispin led the way, turning to face his adoptive father the moment they entered the room. "What now?"

"I just thought I'd check … did she smell inhuman to you?"

Crispin was a little relieved. At least it hadn't been something more serious. "She did! I wondered if you'd noticed. I've always thought she smelled a little … crispy. It must be stronger in her blood."

Carlisle nodded slowly. "It seems your link to the Quileute shapeshifters wasn't far off … at least she doesn't smell like a dog. It might have scared you away."

Crispin was nodding in agreement when he paused, fully absorbing the doctor's words. He glared. Carlisle smiled, amiably. Crispin scowled. "We're not supposed to be encouraging this."

"Oh?" said Carlisle, feigning surprise. Crispin scowled deeper.

"No. I'm supposed to be trying to figure out if she's a risk, remember? I'm not supposed to be getting this close."

Carlisle's smile broadened, sharp teeth shining. Crispin was baffled for a second before he realized he had just openly admitted for the first time to be getting attached. He growled and turned away. Carlisle softly laughed. "Oh, Crispin. Don't feel bad."

"It's not supposed to be happening like this," Crispin snapped. "I'm a vampire, and she's … well, possibly not human, but …" The doctor rebuked him, gently.

"Is that your head or your heart talking?" Crispin hesitated, his hand on the doorknob, caught. Carlisle sighed. "You do need to listen to your heart sometimes, my boy. It's there for a reason." Carlisle went to leave his office, pausing to pat Crispin's shoulder. "Go on back to her. You might try asking about her parents. See if you can help her reclaim her memory." And the doctor was out, leaving Crispin without anything to say, internally battling with himself.

Bah, Carlisle was helping in the wrong way! Coaxing him in the wrong direction. Crispin scowled as he made his way back down the hall toward Sera's room. A nurse walking by scuttled out of his way. He must be showing teeth. Crispin tried to compose his face as he stood outside Sera's door. Why was the doctor encouraging Crispin's attachment? It was dangerous for her. Besides, he was supposed to be wheedling answers out of her, not getting all cozy.

Crispin was immediately sorry at the very thought of that. She wasn't the enemy. He didn't want to treat her like so. He slowly cracked open the door, trying to decide what he was going to do. Then he saw her bright blue eyes and her fierce, clean grin. She held up a notebook, in which she'd written a long list with his blue resin pen. It looked like a list of food. Stuff she wanted to eat. Crispin melted.

Maybe Carlisle was right. Maybe it was okay to let his heart lead for once. He walked in with a gentle smile.