This one's for Zveka :)

Carlisle POV

I gave them about an hour, and then eagerly returned to the house, to my family. I savored the word as I ran. Our little family might not be perfect, but at least we were complete again. The next few months would be difficult. Edward was a young man who felt things very deeply, and who was very, very hard on himself. And two months really wasn't that long; he still had a long road ahead of him, just in terms of his diet.

And judging from our conversation earlier, he wasn't fully repentant yet. Did he still believe in all those lies he had convinced himself of before he had left? What should my role be, as he processed what he had done over the past four years? Did I need to repeat the things I had taught him as a newborn? Surely he wasn't capable of forgetting, though. Or should I keep my peace, allowing him to come to his own conclusions? It was my silence, in part, that had led to this mess. How could I assure him of my forgiveness, while still making it clear that what he had done was murder, and was completely unacceptable? But what if I said too much, and drove him away again? I knew all too well what it was like to live under the shadow of a father whose righteousness meant more to him than his own son. I had to be careful.

But as I neared the house, every plan, every thought fell away as I saw Edward and Esme in the living room: she was seated on the couch, and he was on the floor, crying with his face in her lap. I tore open the patio door, running to them and kneeling as I wrapped my arm around Edward's trembling shoulders. He just wept harder then, and curled up against me in his anguish.

"What happened?" I asked Esme over his head.

"I don't know," she said fearfully, combing her hand through his tangled, dirty hair. "All I did was tell him about my accident, and that we all make mistakes. And then he told me that he had never made a mistake, that he had killed humans on purpose, and then he lost it. I told him over and over that I forgive him, but I don't think he can hear me."

This was it, then: his repentance had already come. It seemed that although he had already felt sorry for hurting us, it wasn't until now that he truly realized what he had actually done. I was glad that this moment was coming so soon, and that I didn't need to help bring it about. But my heart ached to see him suffering so, and I wished that he could cry real tears, just so I could wipe them away. In this moment, Edward was not a man, or even an adolescent; he was my little boy, and a part of me was grateful for the chance to hold him in this tender way. I had never done so before, and I hoped I would never have reason to again. I pulled him even closer, and his sobs shook both of us, until they became my own.

As I held him, he began to whisper names. Charles. Mickey. Mario... They were all men's names, and I stopped counting after the first hundred: it seemed he was confessing each murder separately. Occasionally, instead of a name, he described the man, or described where he had met him. He spoke the names faster and faster, his breath catching in gasping sobs every time he ran out of air. The last name he uttered was Jimmy, and if it were possible, he looked even more distressed after that. He began to weep in earnest again, digging his face harder into my chest. I wept with him again after that, and so did Esme. It went on for hours. We tried to comfort him a few times, but it always seemed to make him feel worse. All we could do was hold him, and grieve with him.

When the sun rose, and the first rays burst into the living room, he stopped suddenly. He pulled away from me and sat up, looking dully first at Esme, and then at me. If he were human, his eyes would be red and swollen and his voice hoarse. But he spoke naturally, as though continuing a conversation. He was concerned about the fundraiser, of all things. I explained our situation here in Montana, and when I foolishly let him see my memory of Harry's suspicions, his eyes narrowed.

"Where does he live?" he asked coldly. But before I could wonder what his intentions were, he laughed. "No, Esme. I merely intend to listen, and make sure there's no real threat."

The sound of his laugh was healing to all of us, and we quickly made our plans: we would move to Rochester, New York, this very weekend. Esme and I decided to go back to the hospital immediately. I would spend the day driving around, giving my week's notice at the various hospitals and offices that I was on call for. Esme would spend her day with the children, no doubt bidding them a bittersweet farewell. But as she headed for the front door, she was practically skipping.

I met Edward's amused smile with my own. This is the happiest she's been in years. His smile faded, but he nodded his understanding.

"You'll be all right here?" I asked as I paused at the front door.

He nodded again. "There are some things I need to do… beginning with a very long shower." I laughed along with him, though it pained me to think what his living conditions had been while he had been away. I put it from my mind and headed out the door.

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I was so happy that I was practically skipping as I made my rounds. I knew that I had better come up with an exciting reason for my departure, to explain both the suddenness and my obvious change in mood. I hadn't been depressed, exactly, and while there had been many difficult moments, I wasn't a brooder like my son. I was a man of action, and I received heartfelt congratulations from my colleagues regarding my new teaching position at a medical school in New England; I was so excited that I conveniently forgot to tell anyone exactly where I was heading.

In reality, of course, I would be starting over as a young doctor, fresh out of my residencies. It was the same every time: new hospital for me, new school for Edward. But things would be different this time. For one thing, I thought that sending Edward back to high school was not the wisest choice. He had been painfully bored here, and that had no doubt contributed to his downfall in '27. I would see if he would like to consider going to a college this time, perhaps the University of Rochester. It was rather amusing, considering that he had never actually graduated high school, for all his attempts.

It wasn't that I wanted to reward his behavior in any way. This was therapeutic; he needed new challenges, and a new type of environment. And if I had learned anything from his journals, it was that I needed to treat him as more of an adult. But he would have to earn that last privilege, starting now. I was proud of his return, and even more proud of his repentance; both of these decisions bespoke his maturity. But in some ways, he would always be an adolescent, and to ignore that fact would be equally as destructive. One thing was certain, though: Edward and I needed to communicate more. I knew this was easier said than done, because he was seventeen. He would always feel that pull toward independence, wrestling against his grudging need for our guidance and comfort. And it would be difficult for me, because of the way things had been between my own father and me. It didn't help that I had been alone for so long. I would try, though, starting with the college issue. Another touchy subject would be his reintegration into human society. I didn't know if his last kill had been an accident or not, but he would need to be careful for a while. Would he accept my help this time?

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When Esme and I returned home, I was about to burst with all the things I had planned to say. And so when I headed up the stairs, and saw Edward sitting in his room, writing in his journal, I feared the worst. Had nothing changed?

"No, that's not it at all," he murmured, motioning me into the room. I relaxed as I took in his appearance: he was cleaned up, with fresh clothes and shoes, and his hair was tamed. Esme entered the room as well, running her fingers through his hair. He turned in his chair and laid his hand over hers, still on his head.

"About that," he said to her with a grin. "I thought that you might like to give me a haircut tonight. You know, new life, new look." I personally hated the idea; I had always rather envied my son his wild, "energetic" hairstyle. But this was between mother and son; and if changing his appearance would help him with his resolutions, I was all for that.

But she shook her head, letting her fingers trail through his hair again as she touched his forehead. "This is the face I waited to see for four years," she said tenderly. "Don't ask me to change it now."

He watched her thoughts for a moment, and then nodded before turning to me. "I'll explain in a few days, before we leave," he told me, tapping the journal. "This is just something I need to do, before we move on… together."

"All right, son," I said in relief. As long as I had his promise, I would let him have this. Esme and I walked out, and I began pulling the door shut behind me.

"No, leave it open," he murmured. "I think we've had enough of that."

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Esme and I spent the rest of the week getting the house ready, and I had arranged for the movers to come Saturday afternoon, after we had left. A piano mover would also be coming tomorrow; we were moving cross-country, and Edward had agreed to donate his piano to a local school. It might have been more convenient for the movers to come earlier, so that we could supervise them, but it wasn't worth the risk. Despite my resolution to talk with Edward more, we had barely spoken to each other all week. But it wasn't anything like before: even though he was journaling furiously, his door was always open. He took frequent breaks to play the piano, and Esme and I often stood behind him as we had done on Sunday night.

I ended up being called in on Friday to cover for another physician who had gotten sick. Esme went with me one last time, and as we returned home the next morning, I recalled Edward's promise to explain himself before we left, and we were leaving tomorrow morning. And we really did need to discuss his sensitivity to humans, before we left. If things were as bad as I suspected, we would need to be careful in our travels.

Perhaps I should see if he'd be interested in a little father-son hunt now; his eyes were already much darker than they had been two days ago. He had been so quiet this week; maybe if we were out in the woods alone together, it would be easier for both of us.

We walked in the front door to find him leaning casually against the banister, a satchel slung over his shoulder. "What are you waiting for?" he teased. "Our luncheon reservation is for eleven."

I had forgotten how handy your gift is when I'm trying to plan something. I turned to Esme, my heart light. "If it's all right with you, dear, I think I'll take Edward on a hunt while you finish packing up."

She nodded, and pulled my shoulder down to kiss me goodbye. It warmed my heart to see her so happy again. I tossed my lab coat, stethoscope and bag into the coat closet, and Edward and I took off at a run. He ran at my pace, though he took a few extra loops around me, grinning mischievously. He looked so relaxed, and I was soon laughing along with him as we ran.

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After we had fed, I finally decided it was time. Edward never carried anything when he hunted, and so I knew the satchel carried something of meaning.

"Don't tell me you brought your own silverware," I said lightly, nodding toward the satchel.

"No, it's a gift for you. I thought it was a good time, since we were alone." His face was instantly serious again, and I nodded, inviting him to join me up on the boulder under which we had buried our kills. He sat down and pulled five leather volumes out of the bag. One was dirty, and the other four were crisp and new.

His journals.

You don't have to do this, I protested.

"Yes, I do," he said softly. "I need you to understand… I need you to know what happened. What I did, and how I got there. Carlisle, I'm grateful that you and Esme have accepted me back. But before I move on with you, we need to be fully honest with each other. I do covet your forgiveness, but until you know everything… well, I just want you to know everything."

Well, this was unexpected. I nodded and picked up the dirty one- 1927, no doubt. I read as quickly as possible, finding what I had expected to find- that Edward's blood scent addiction had indeed driven him to leave us. When I saw that Charles Evenson had been his first victim, I forced myself to read even faster; this was no time to celebrate the fact that Esme and I had benefitted from our son's downfall. I read faster and faster, in an effort to keep myself from feeling. I knew that if I slowed down or stopped, I would be crushed by both sorrow and yes, disappointment in my son. He was quite thorough in his reports- both in terms of the murders, but also in places he had visited, things he had done.

It looked like his time away had been one effort after another to keep his mind filed with noise, so that he wouldn't have to deal with the guilt that was hounding him the entire time. I read through 1928, and then the others, as quickly and as numbly as I could. I was relieved, in the end, to see that Edward had arrived at the same conclusion that I had, about the addiction; at least I didn't need to go through that with him. The final page contained a particularly raw sample of his usual self-flagellation; knowing my son as I did, I supposed I shouldn't have expected anything else. At least he had ended today's entry on a lighter note: his relief at our forgiveness and his anticipation of our journey east.

As soon as I closed the volume, the grief caught up with me. Nearly a thousand men had died at my son's hand. I was, of course, relieved at his choice to kill humanely, and at his choice to kill only male criminals. But that didn't make any of this right, and it did nothing to quell the shame that I felt. Edward was no monster, but what he had done was indeed monstrous; and as his creator, I had some responsibility in that. I also felt ashamed of my failure to prevent this disaster. But in all fairness, I had tried; not enough, but I had tried. I had given Edward every chance to confide in me, and he hadn't done it. And look where it had gotten him! I wanted to gather my son in my arms, and weep with him again. But that time was past.

"If you had come to me," I began in a quavering voice, "if you had only come to me, I would have listened. We could have figured this out together."

He just swallowed, tracing invisible lines in the rock with his finger.

"It seems you have come full circle in your conclusions," I continued in a stronger voice, "and that you are determined to avoid returning to that life forever. Am I right?"

"Yes. It will never happen again," he answered easily, and I clenched my teeth in exasperation at this familiar display. Just like that, he had swung from self-hatred to arrogance, without warning. How he managed to do this, I had never been able to understand.

"How can you know that?!" I demanded. He flinched, and I forced my voice back into gentleness. But I couldn't back down here; he needed to understand this. "Forgive me. I see that you realize how wrong it was, and I understand the safeguards you intend to keep in place. What I mean is, how do I know that the next time you find life challenging, you won't just do this again? Retreat into yourself, refusing all help and wallowing in your introspection until the whole world is skewed in your eyes. That is not the way to deal with hardship, Edward." How many have paid for your stubbornness? With their lives?

He swallowed again, and lowered his eyes in shame. "You're right," he admitted. "Instead of coming to you and Esme with my doubts, I took everything upon myself, and it crushed me. I promise you that I will not make that mistake again, either. You and Esme were right when you said I would never be emotionally mature. I understand now that I need your guidance in my life. I mean, if you still want me, now that you've-"

I smiled sadly; of course he had taken my rebuke too far. And I supposed it was time for my own confession. "You had my forgiveness before you ever decided to return to us, Edward. I knew what you were up to not long after you left. I confess that I did read your other journals, and your final entries from 1926 were enough to show me where you were headed. No, our love for you is unchanged. I can only repent for my part in your… failures." I winced as that last word escaped my lips. I didn't want to hurt him anymore, but this was my duty as his father. He had to understand where I stood on this.

"Your part?" he asked incredulously.

"I should have insisted that you talk to me. If I had been attentive enough, I would have seen earlier how unhappy you were. In the end, I recognized that you were losing control over your thirst, but I was afraid if I pushed too hard, that you would shut me out completely. I told myself that you were behaving as a normal adolescent, but I see now that it was more than that."

"I'm not so sure," he said disgustedly. "Looking back, I am ashamed at my own petulance. I was more – no, I am more like my human peers than I care to admit. The worst part was that I had no excuse; I knew from your thoughts that you only wanted to help. I suppose that's why I stayed as long as I did."

I could understand that. And I understood, now more than ever, that we would always be wrangling with his adolescence; it was never going to fully leave him, no matter how much he learned, no matter how much he grew. He would always struggle with his identity as both a boy and a man. He would always be impulsive, and, like most young men his age, arrogant at times. This last would at least be tempered by his sensitivity and by his seriousness; I supposed that was a blessing, though Edward himself would always be the one to suffer from the struggle between these qualities. And as much as I hated to think it in front of him, his behavior had really just been the vampire version of the typical adolescent rebellion.

He sighed when he heard this. "It's a good thing I'll be in high school forever," he said ruefully.

I smiled; it was the perfect opening for the happier end of this conversation. "Well, that's another thing I regret, actually. I believe that your boredom was one of the catalysts for your rebellion. How would you feel about attending university when we reach New York?"

He sat up straighter, and as a huge grin broke across his face, I felt cleansed; I hadn't seen that smile in years. "You mean it?" he asked eagerly.

I nodded. "Edward, in some ways you really will be seventeen forever. Neither of us can deny that fact. But you have already showed remarkable maturity in your choice to return to the animal diet, and in your willingness to join our family again." He opened his mouth in protest, but I silenced him with a hand in the air between us. "I know. In some ways you were driven to return, and to repent; and we will never know how altruistic you would be without your mental abilities. Perhaps they are God's way of keeping you honest."

I waited for the smirk and the beginning of our old debate, but it didn't come. Interesting.

"I'd love to try going to college, if you truly think I'm ready."

"I do. Let's wait until the fall semester, though. By then you should have a good level of control again." He nodded, and jumped down off the rock, putting the journals away. I hoped I would never have the opportunity- or the need- to read them again. And I was even more thankful, now that the matter was resolved, that I hadn't shown them to Esme. I knew that earlier this week, Edward had briefly whispered an account of his actions to her, but I knew that both of them wanted that to be the end of it.

Let's keep the journals between us. You know Esme would forgive you anyway, and there's no need to hurt her further.

He nodded, looking down again. "Carlisle, was it… was it very hard for her?"

I tried not to let him see, but I was out of practice. My mind instantly returned to the hundreds of times I had found Esme sitting in Edward's room, weeping for her lost son. I clamped my mind against the flow of memories, but by the pain in Edward's eyes, I knew I was too late.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I never meant to hurt her like that."

I just stared at him. Did he truly think Esme was the only one who loved him? That I hadn't been devastated when he had left so abruptly? You hurt us both, son. But it's over now.

He looked up in shame again, and so I repeated to him, over and over, that I loved him, that Esme was happy again. That everything was all right.

"I think all this cogitation has given me an appetite," I announced. "Why don't we see if we can't find something better than elk? It's our final hunt in Montana, after all. Let's make it memorable." I gave him a wink and took off running. As he blew past me, I smiled to hear his playful growl. The worst was over, it seemed.

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We were relieved to each find a grizzly; it might be our last taste of that particular meal for a long time. We were taking our time, strolling back to the house as we discussed the plans for our departure tomorrow. In his attempts to finish the journaling by this morning, Edward hadn't done much of his own packing yet.

"I thought I'd put the globe in with the towels," he was saying. "Do you want me to bring-"

I caught the faint scent of human blood a split second after he did: too late. He was already deep in a hunting crouch, a look of anguish and confusion on his face. There was no time to think; I just slammed right into him, knocking him off the path and into the trees. As we fell together, he was already fighting me, though his eyes were pleading for help.

"Stop, Edward!" I yelled, trying with all my might to hold him down. And for just an instant, I thought he was beginning to relax into my arms. But I watched in dismay as his eyes quickly darkened; it was as if the grizzly had never happened. I got my knee into his back and tried to push his face down fully into the dirt; I didn't have a hand free to cover his mouth and nose, but if I could cut off his air supply with the ground, he would be able to fight it. But I simply wasn't strong enough. As his eyes turned fully to black, his anguish twisted into feral rage and he roared his defeat, jerking his body into a backwards twist which sent me flying off.

I hit the ground running, but he was already too far. There was no way I could catch him. Still, I ran with all my might; I knew he didn't want to do this. After all his efforts the past two months, too! And Esme was there- was she all right? What was a human doing at our house, anyway? There was no mistaking the direction that Edward was running in. I could barely see him anymore.

It was going to happen. Right in front of Esme! Why?! Why did this have to happen?!

I barely heard his plea, coming from so far in front of me: "Stop me!"

But what could I do? I kept running, racing through options. Edward knew to hold his breath, but he had already lost control over that instinct. But if he could still speak, maybe he could…

"My car!" I yelled in inspiration. "Get in my car!" Could he even hear me, or was he already feeding? After what seemed an eternity, I heard the door of my car slam shut, and I veered off toward the driveway, gasping in relief to see Edward sitting in the passenger seat, his head in his hands. I jerked open the driver's side door and slammed it behind me, while my right hand grabbed the keys from their hiding place. I jammed them in the ignition and threw the car in reverse, shoving the pedal to the floor. As we hit the highway, I finally looked over to Edward, whose eyes were still black as he gulped in the clean air inside the car. He finally let go of his hair, gripping the dashboard so hard that his fingers began to dig into the metal. He nodded over and over.

The car began to shake, and I shifted down to give the engine a break. It's over now, I told him. What HAPPENED back there?

He dug his fingers deeper into the metal, and sucked in a breath through his clenched teeth. "The piano mover decided to come a day early. He dropped one end of it, and one of the feet scraped his leg on the way down."

"Is Esme all right?"

"Yes. He's almost got the bleeding stopped now." He took another deep breath, and forced his jaw to relax. But as the rage of his thirst cooled, his eyes began to dart back and forth in panic, and his all-too-familiar look of self-disgust appeared. Hadn't we just talked about this?

"Edward…" I said with a warning tone, "you're doing it again. Talk to me."

"I don't understand. When I hunted before – humans, I mean – it was never like that. I never lost control, not once."

I shrugged. "I think that it's to be expected, at least for a while. You're like a newborn right now. Only this time you know what it's like to indulge, and you've denied your appetite for two months now. Your last taste of human blood was recent enough that your instincts react naturally to the aroma, and it was long ago enough that your body feels starved for it."

"Well, that… makes sense," he admitted.

"Anyway, that's why I scheduled the movers to come tomorrow, after we left. I'm sorry, son- I should have scouted ahead before you got so close to home." I'm so proud of you, though. I can't imagine how difficult it was to stop.

He nodded his thanks, finally letting go of the dashboard.

"We'll get through this," I assured him. "It'll take some work and some care, but I still believe you'll be ready to attend university this fall."

He rolled his eyes. "I don't know about that."

"Well, let's just take it one day at a time." And anytime you are struggling, you WILL come to me.

"Agreed."

We continued to drive around for a half hour, each lost in our own thoughts. After a few minutes, Edward rolled down the window and leaned out slightly, the sun catching his beautiful face with a glittering brilliance. He closed his eyes, and for the first time this week, he truly looked like he was at peace.

I was at peace, as well. It was time to put Montana- and the wretchedness of the past four years- behind us. It was time to make a new beginning. And now our little family could make it together, because we were complete again.

I was complete.