A/N for 2018-10-04: Sometimes, the writing is easy, and sometimes - gah, you're just not sure if your plot and development work at all. Your reactions and feedback always appreciated.

~ Erin

A Living Stone

Edward had answered Alice's call only after getting Bella to her counselling appointment.

"Do I really need to tell you that eavesdropping on her appointment would be a very, very bad idea?"

He'd snorted into the phone's receiver and then answered drily. "Thank you for your confidence."

"I have lots of confidence—except in your ability not to worry. Or be overprotective. I want you to be happy with her—and congratulations, by the way, I see things went well on that front."

"Thank you," he murmured, a little chagrined. Alice was his closest sibling, and she'd been the most supportive too. Not something to be taken for granted.

"She's really...tenuous, right now, Edward. Her future keeps...shifting. I don't know if it's because she's human, or what, but you need to be careful."

"Of course I'll be careful, Alice."

"I don't mean because of that, I mean—go slow. I know you feel protective, but that can be frightening for someone so young—especially after what she's been through."

"Can you see anything for the next few days?" he asked, hoping for some glimpse of goodness there.

"No," she said flatly, sighing. "It's...sporadic."

"And the other vision?"

She paused, as if she was checking. "Still there."

His teeth ground together audibly.

"Don't get mad at me. Just the messenger."

"I'm not," he sighed. "Just...frustrated. You know my feelings there."

He'd made himself leave the hospital, moving into the forest, hunting small game to keep himself distracted and occupied. When Alice had called him, several hours later, he'd only gone home to get the car, and then rush to the hospital to see Bella.

It had been a good thing that Jacob hadn't come with her. He wasn't sure he'd be able to keep the treaty after seeing what the mongrel had done.

An accident. He thought of Emily Young, and grimaced. He doubted any of the wolves would ever hurt a human intentionally. Still, intention had little to do with outcomes where adolescent werewolves were concerned.

In his few interactions with Jacob, he'd seen that the boy had sense and better control than most of his kind. That wasn't saying much. That fractional confidence had been the only thing that had kept Edward from changing his mind and running after Bella that night in Seattle.

Now she was sleeping on his couch, her hand loose in his grip. When she'd twitched and turned in her sleep, he'd simply moved to the other side of the couch, nudging her form gently, making sure she was comfortably centred.

There had been a few mumbled words, but nothing he could make sense of. Now she was into a long stretch of deep, and silent sleep.

Emmett and Rosalie had left the house, saying they needed to hunt. He knew it wasn't the real reason why, but he didn't want to press Rosalie for more of her ill will, so let the lie go. He doubted anyone else was fooled by her polite pretense. At least she was trying to keep the peace.

Alice's mind was busy attempting to make sense of the shifting visions related to Bella's immediate future. Edward listened uneasily.

One of these prescient moments arrived with startling clarity.

Oh.

His sister's thoughts held the shape of Bella's body. Its pose made an informative tableau.

Edward was beginning to understand why sleep didn't feel safe for her.

It didn't take long for the vision to become a reality. She woke with a choked sob.

"Just a dream, Bella," he whispered, "you're safe."

Her heart pounded, and her breathing shook. There was a fine sheen of sweat on her forehead. Her eyes searched the space, landing on him. She jerked enough at this sight to make her jar her injured left arm. The air hissed through her deep breath, and her other hand flew to her ribs.

Still, he didn't move, afraid of frightening her more.

"Hurting?" he asked instead. Carlisle was home, he knew. He debated calling him, but worried it would only further startle or wake her.

"Bad dream," she muttered, more to herself than him.

"Yes," he said softly. "I can tell."

She was still breathing unevenly, her hand at her rib.

An idea clicked. "Would ice help?"

She nodded.

She didn't react when he sat beside her on the couch. He held his hand out, eyebrows up, thinking there must be enough moonlight for her to see by now. Her pupils were fully dilated, the brown of her eyes but a thin ring around them.

The shallowing of her breathing was the first sign of her distress. Then her her hand began to tremble on the couch.

"I'll go get some ice," he murmured, chastising himself for being so forward.

She said nothing, but pulled the blanket up over herself, scooting back, knees to her chest.

He was gone and back in seconds, the ice pack carefully wrapped in a small towel.

"Thanks," she said, reaching her hand out and taking it gingerly. Avoiding contact.

Pressing this new coldness against her ribs, she slid downwards, head back on the pillow. Then she reached out for his hand.

He was certain that the smile blossoming on his face was invisible to her in the darkness.

The shift in her posture brought more of her arm into contact with his.

"You're safe," he said again.

She breathed out an airy acceptance, and he watched the tight stretch of her shoulders ease. Her breathing slowed, and he heard the telltale signs of sleep returning. As she slid deeper into this state, he watched her body unfurl in this human rest.

If this wasn't a small piece of paradise in the mortal realm, he didn't know what was.

Her smell was more perfume than temptation now, and he luxuriated in it, his head tipped forward over hers, wanting to absorb every atom of it and store it away for when they would have to be parted.

She slept on through to the morning. He paid little attention to the view offered by the window. He knew it would be of scattered clouds and broken beams of light, because they were flickering over his exposed flesh, making the room shimmer with the refracted light. His eyes were squarely on Bella, certain she would wake soon. He worried for her reaction to this sight.

He needn't have.

When she opened her eyes, the sun had made a bolder appearance in the sky, and she blinked, squinting.

"Edward?"

"Mm-hmm." He didn't want to let go of her hand, but she was wriggling slightly, and he loosened his grip.

"Um, do you have a disco ball somewhere?"

He smiled, despite his worry. "No. That's just me."

She turned her head in his direction, and pulled in a sharp breath. He kept himself very still, trying to ignore the nervous clench in his gut.

Her finger tentatively traced his arm.

He'd expected her to jump, to be startled, to run, but not this.

"You're so...beautiful," she murmured, as if in awe.

Beautiful? Repulsive, cold, murderous—

"I feel so...ordinary next to you." She said it with a chuckle, but it made him draw in sharp and disapproving breath.

"No," he whispered. He slipped a hand to her back, helping her sit up. "You're...exquisite."

She blushed and chuckled. "I'm not feeling quite so exquisite right now, but maybe I'll go brush my teeth and feel a bit more like that."

"If it makes you feel better. Alice's left you some clothes in the bathroom."

She nodded, accepting his hand as she stood.

"I can get there myself." Her face remained a fetching pink.

He smiled gently, and let go of her fingers. It almost hurt to release them.

He'd had custody of her hand for most of the night. He knew the world saw it as a small intimacy, but it felt monumental to him.

Emmett's gently taunting thoughts were loud: Bow-wow-chicka-bow-wow—nice, practically in bed on the first date. Sweet! He finished this with an audible snort.

Edward responded with a low growl.

He listened to the sounds of the shower, and wondered if Bella had remembered to keep her forearm dry.

When she returned to the room, one arm towelling off her hair, it was with a sheepish look. "I think this needs to be changed," she murmured, holding out her injured arm. The bandages were obviously damp.

From downstairs, Carlisle asked, do you want to, or should I?

"Perhaps Carlisle can take a look?" he said. He trusted his own expertise, but Carlisle's was so much more practised.

She nodded.

"Morning, Bella," Carlisle said from the living room.

"Morning," she replied, another blush creeping up her cheeks.

Why? Edward wondered.

As they walked towards Carlisle's study, she leaned closer to Edward. "How much, exactly, can all of you hear?"

"Everything for several miles," he answered.

"So, um...everyone will have heard everything we said? I said, upstairs?"

Ah.

"Yes," he said softly, "and no one will say anything about any of it, unless you bring it up."

She took a slow breath in, and then let it out. "OK." Her heart beat stuttered on nervously.

Edward grasped her free hand. "It takes some getting used to, I know, but everyone here cares about you, Bella. They'll respect your privacy."

Her eyebrows flexed together, but she nodded.

Carlisle cut through the old bandages, not touching, but looking at the stitching, and then taking in its smell. All good, he thought.

"Seems to be healing well," he said to Bella, "but best to let it dry out."

Edward looked at him sharply. The cut had coagulated, but open, the scent of her blood was much more pungent, even drying.

Everyone's already left, Edward. They'll be back when I've bandaged it.

This was another shock. He hadn't even realized the absence of thoughts, or the sounds of their leaving, he'd been so focused on Bella.

Quite something, isn't it? Carlisle smiled mentally at him. How a mate affects you? His eyebrow twitched up just slightly.

Quite.

Esme and I are going out too. The place is yours. Back in an hour to bandage her arm.

Edward let a small smile flicker over his lips.

Time alone was always a gift for him, as a mind reader, but to have it with Bella—and to be truly alone with her, was even more.

"Breakfast?" he asked her.

She was staring at the stitches in her arm, but gave him her eyes when he spoke.

"Maybe in a bit," she answered.

Edward frowned. She needed to take antibiotics, and those required food. He said as much.

"I'm...kinda squeamish. I don't do well with blood, Edward, and this—" she held out her forearm, not looking at it, "isn't helping."

He laughed. "Really? You don't do well with blood? In a house full of vampires?"

She laughed now too. "Ironic, I know."

He treasured this sound.

"Let me see if I can entice you," he said, kissing her good hand, and then leading her to the kitchen.

After some playful cajoling, he distracted her enough to eat, and even stomach the antibiotics Carlisle had prescribed. He had no luck with the pain medication.

He knew why, from the flicker in Carlisle's thoughts.

"You'll feel better with it, Bella."

She bit her lip. "I can't."

He felt a wave of regret. "Sorry," he murmured. "I just—I want you to be well."

"I know." She didn't hesitate to meet his eyes with her own. "I'm OK."

Carlisle returned after an hour to bandage her arm, but left almost immediately, his mind full of happiness at their seeming ease.

"Is it just me, or is everyone making themselves scarce for us?" Bella asked, watching Carlisle walk out the front door, dressed for work.

"They are," he confirmed, and seeing the uncertain expression on her face, added, "but it's actually for me."

She didn't say anything, but tilted her head slightly, inviting more information.

"Time without the noise of others' thoughts is always a gift. And considering Emmett is dying to make jokes about us at any given opportunity, the quiet is...appreciated."

"Ah," Bella said. "I wondered. He looks...mischievous."

"He is," Edward agreed, laughing. How wonderous it was, to be near her. Everything became easier—lighter. Even Emmett's tone-deaf humour could be enjoyed, rather than only endured.

They'd sat down for her breakfast at the kitchen table, and they were still there, her dish pushed to the side, facing one another, enjoying this simple conversation.

She reached up her hand, almost tentatively, and then pulled it part way back. "Can I?" she asked, moving it forward again towards his hair.

He was so thrilled by the anticipation of her touch, that he couldn't even say yes. He nodded instead.

Her fingers only brushed over the tips of his hair, but then grew bolder, parting it in five warm furrows.

He could feel every single follicle moving.

It was torture, keeping himself still.

Her thumb whispered over his forehead and then her hand settled, palm just at his ear, and cheek.

He didn't need to breathe so deeply, or quickly.

But he did.

She watched his face, and he remained still, as only his kind could.

"You're not a monster," she said.

How utterly wrong she was. He swallowed the venom that had pooled in this mouth, and waited until he was fully in control before he spoke. "I'd like to believe that, but doing so would be far too dangerous for you."

He pressed his hand over hers, so that his cheek and palm felt the thrum of her pulse between them.

Then she leaned forward.

Seeing what she intended, and not daring to move for fear of startling, or hurting her, he became a living stone.

But only momentarily.

The touch of their lips was a combustion all his years had never seen. Her flesh molded itself against his, the pressure light, and then harder, and then a weight against him.

He let his hands make a nest around the delicacy of her face. Her cheeks were hot from the blood that pooled there.

The desire to let go of all his control, and let loose the monsters shrieking for liberty inside, was sprouting and blooming and shooting up his spine.

And then he heard what his mind could not possibly ignore.

Cursing more creatures than could have cause to be involved in the disruption of this most desirable—and dangerous activity, he reluctantly pulled back.

Her eyes flew open wide, the look of remorse and shock on her face as plain as the daylight.

He kept his hands in place, a quick "sorry," on his lips. "Jacob's here."

"Jacob?"

He smiled, letting his eyebrows rise. "Your foster-brother?" The term would aggravate Jacob to no end.

Now worry crept between her eyebrows.

"He's coming to leave your truck, Bella. Nothing else." This wasn't exactly true. He was coming to check on Bella, to apologize, and to make sure she was safe. If he hadn't thought it would upset her, Edward would've snorted at the irony of the boy's intentions. He could also hear the barely contained jealousy that was throttled by the most tenuous control.

That was worrisome.

He sighed, letting go of her cheeks. They had a moment before Jacob was at the house. "I'm not sure I have words to express my feelings for your gift."

It was its own sunrise, the colour creeping up her cheeks. He watched with fascination, hearing the sound of blood released to warm its northern limits. He knew now what such flesh felt like under his hand.

And he never wanted to stop feeling it.

"I've never done that before," she murmured.

His heart felt like it was singing. "Me either."

Her eyes widened. "Really?"

He shook his head.

"Ever?"

"Ever." He was grinning now. "Is that so hard to believe?"

"Yes!"

"I'm honoured," he said, and then, because he could, traced the shape of another kiss over her hand, helping her stand up. He hoped Jacob Black would see the fullness their kiss had brought to Bella's lips, and know that there was no ambiguity in Edward's feelings or intentions.

He'd never felt so possessive in all his life.

Hands linked, they walked to the door. Jacob was only a few steps away when Edward opened it. There was no point in pretending he hadn't heard him coming.

Jacob's posture became stiff, and Edward tightened his hand over Bella's, ready to move her behind him if Jacob's control wavered any more.

"Hi," Jacob finally said.

"Hi Jake." Bella smiled a little. "You OK?"

Was he OK? Edward frowned, looking at her face, then her arm, and finally at Jacob. He was glad to see the dog cringe a little.

"I'm fine, Bella. Thanks. You?"

"All good."

"Um, Dad asked me to bring you your truck, and your bag of school stuff." He held out her backpack.

No, Edward thought, your father read you the riot act and told you to get yourself here to apologize. And leave her the truck. A slight difference. Sam had sanctioned this. He let his eyebrows rise slightly, questioning the relaying of the message.

Jacob ignored him, eyes solidly fixed on Bella, jaw flexing, like he was thinking about saying more.

"Thank you," Bella said, biting her lip. "How're you going to get back home though?"

Jacob grinned. "You really have to ask?"

"Oh," she said, "in the middle of the day?"

He chuckled. "Not planning on running through town Bells. There's forest all the way back. Easy enough." His eyes met Edward's briefly.

Edward didn't need to read minds to catch the meaning there.

The Cullens were easily reached by Jacob's kind. Yes. He understood.

"I'll be home later."

"When?"

It was so abrupt it almost be rude. Not that Edward expected a boy of this age, or temperament to appreciate how much.

"Um—"

"We have dinner plans tonight," Edward reminded her.

"So long as you're not the meal," Jacob muttered.

This remark pulled a solid line of red up Bella's cheeks, and a wave of regret from Jacob's mind.

"Sorry," he sighed. "We're not exactly made to trust one another."

Bella's teeth weren't quite clenched, but close enough, when she spoke. "I don't need you to trust each other. I just need you to trust me." She glared at Jacob.

Edward stared at her, savouring the mixture of respect and delight in her fierceness.

"I'll see you later, Jake," she said, not unkindly, but firmly. He was dismissed.

Edward's attention for Jacob Black faded as soon as the boy was gone into the trees. He was too busy trying to guess at Bella's thoughts.

She was staring at the piano in the living room. "Who plays?"

"Me."

Her face blossomed with anticipation. "Would you play something for me?"

He would do almost anything for her.

"Of course."

He set her bag down by the bench, hoping she would join him, but she didn't, sitting in one of the dining room chairs, a few feet away. She rifled through her bag, and with a contented sigh, pulled out her journal.

Had she even had time to look at it yet? Doubtful, considering what had happened since they'd last seen each other.

She pinched the edges, alloting certain pages to one hand, the remainder to another, and opened it to a page that seemed to satisfy her. She sighed, and then brought a pencil to it, lifting her gaze to watch him, watching her.

"Will you?" she asked.

He nodded, turning and putting his hands to the keys. On the stand was the last piece he'd composed. He began playing, altering and embellishing as the notes moved him. Her pencil scratched a syncopated rhythm behind him, and he itched to know what she had laid on the page. He played on instead, listening to the intensity with which she worked. When the piece ended, he paused before turning around, hearing her sounds slowing too.

"Can I see?" he asked softly, turning his head just a little.

"Just a sec'," she mumbled, moving her hand rapidly over the page, dusting things off of it. "There." She turned it to face him.

He burst out laughing.

It was a stick figure.

She joined him, and then shrugged. "Sometimes it comes, and sometimes it doesn't." She put her sketchbook back in her bag. "That was beautiful, though, what you played. Who's that by?"

His shoulders mirrored hers. "Just something I wrote."

She paused in sitting back up. "This should not surprise me, but...it does. What other talents are you going to surprise me with?"

"Excellent tutoring skills." He looked meaningfully at her backpack. "I should let you get some school work done...or help you if you need it?"

"As much fun as it would be to have your help, I think it might be counterproductive." She sighed. "Though I could probably find somewhere to use your skills with physics."

So they spent the rest of the morning, he pretending to read a book, and she actually reading her own, pencil tucked alternately between her teeth, and her fingers.

He groaned quietly when her heard the rest of the family returning. The feeling was short lived, though. Bella looked happy, watching them return, smiling at Emmett's jokes, and accepting Alice's invitation to flick through magazines and talk.

Don't you dare! Alice hissed at him silently. You got her all morning. My turn!

When Bella's back was turned, he held his hands up in mock surrender to his sister, listening to their quiet chatter and laughter.

It felt so natural, and so happy to have Bella there with his family, the familiar ache and loneliness was so much sharper, leaving her to drive the last few minutes home.

"I'll call you when I get there," she said, as they traded spots in the truck. He'd suggested that he might drive the greater share of the distance, letting her arm rest.

She'd responded with an arched eyebrow, and a curt, "You really don't like my driving skills, do you?"

He'd denied any such thing, but did point out that he had superior reflexes.

Now he watched the tail lights rounding the last visible bend, and closed his eyes, inhaling the vestiges of her scent on his clothes, and in the air around him. He would need to find a way to be away from her. He just wasn't sure how. Finding a way to not have her leave seemed so much more preferable than this inevitable parting.

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