"I have been a haunted house.

I have had things die but stay,

And I didn't know how to make them leave.

And there were certainly times I didn't want them to leave,

because they were beautiful.

They were no longer real, but they were beautiful.

They were bridges to brighter days."

- Jamie Tworkowski -

Sunlight on Water

My life returned to its pleasant, comfortable rhythm of work and spending time with Carlisle. We spent every night together, either at my place or his, and on Friday night, we went to dinner with Rosalie and Emmett. Emmett was his usual, cheerful self, but I noticed that, even though Rosalie was polite to Carlisle, she kept giving him cool, measuring gazes every now and then. As the evening passed, she slowly began to warm up to him again, but I could see she tried not to show it to him. I suppose she saw how happy Carlisle's presence made me, and maybe she was now able to believe he hadn't left because he meant to hurt me.

In fact, maybe those days we'd spent apart had been good for us, as strange as it sounded. Maybe thinking things over had even helped Carlisle to face some of his demons. There was a new closeness between us now; I wondered if he could feel it, too. Like something had changed, shifted.

Even though I became aware of that subtle, invisible change, even though I acknowledged the existence of balance that hadn't been there before...even so, it surprised me a bit, when it began to show in Carlisle's actions in ways I couldn't have expected. As the days passed, I began to see new sides of him, sides he'd always kept hidden from the world. From me.

I wondered if his weekly therapy sessions had something to do with it. We didn't talk about them that much; Carlisle was always quieter and more subdued than normal after the sessions. I always asked him how it had gone, but otherwise, I didn't pressure him to talk about it. I slowly began to believe, though, that returning to therapy was helping him. One sign was that he began to share things. Things I never would have expected him to share.

After spending a few nights at my apartment, it was my turn to stay at his house once again. One night, as we were getting ready to turn in for the night, I emerged from the bathroom and saw Carlisle was sitting on the side of the bed I considered mine. There was something about him – maybe the posture of his shoulders – that caught my attention.

Drying my face with a towel, I rounded the bed. I was about to ask him what was wrong, and that was when I noticed the bedside drawer was open. Carlisle was holding a familiar-looking wedding ring in his fingers, but his attention was on something else.

When I had looked into that drawer weeks and weeks ago and had accidentally found his ring, there had been another object in there that had remained a mystery to me; the photo album with brown cover. It was resting in Carlisle's lap now. He met my gaze when he noticed my arrival, giving me a look I couldn't decipher.

I bit my lip, hesitating, but when he reached out a hand and pulled me to sit beside him on the bed, my uncertainty disappeared. I began to feel something between curious and confused, then, but I didn't say anything.

Carlisle wasn't speaking, either. A few moments passed, and then he drew in a deep breath, placing the silver ring on the bedside table. Then, he took the album, his movements slow and deliberate, and offered it to me.

Still feeling a little confused, I put aside the towel and took the album, running my fingers down its smooth leather covers.

"What is this?" I asked quietly, looking at him.

He didn't answer right away. "Many things." The words came out as a quiet sigh.

There was something in his eyes that made an uneasy feeling – something like a hunch – settle in the pit of my stomach. "Carlisle, if you don't want me to see this..."

He shook his head. "I want you to see it," he said quietly. "You're part of my life now, Bella. And...what's in that album is part of my life, too. That's why it's important I show it to you."

I stared into his eyes for a long moment, looking for signs of hesitation. There were none. Drawing in a slow breath, I looked down at the album, and with trembling fingers, I opened it.

I'd suppose a part of me had still believed it to be a wedding album or something, and maybe that was why I felt a little shaken, as I studied the first few pages. I stared at the sea of photos of a little girl with cornflower blue eyes and dark, unruly hair, and I thought to myself that it would probably be difficult to find a photo of her where she didn't smile. The thought made something within me break, but at the same time, I felt oddly soothed. The little girl in the photos...she was probably the happiest little thing I had ever seen.

Esme and Edward were in some of the photos...and so was Carlisle. He looked a lot younger, but it had nothing to do with age. There was no ancient sadness in his blue eyes, no dark shadows under them. And the smile on his lips...it didn't belong to anyone else but the little girl he was holding in his arms, or holding afloat in a swimming pool, or pulling around in a sled. And the smile on Alice's small lips...it sparkled like sunlight on water.

I stayed silent, as I kept turning page after page, practically drinking in the photos. After a while, I glanced at Carlisle; he was looking at the album very much like I was. Like he, too, was seeing it for the first time.

Suddenly, he pointed at one of the photos; Alice was sitting in a red swing, her dark curls tamed into two pigtails.

"She's three years old in that one," he said quietly. "See her hair? She inherited the color from my mother, but the messiness...she got that from Edward. It used to drive Esme crazy." He gave a soft, fond laugh, and he actually smiled a bit. "I used to braid it or put it in pigtails like that. If I didn't have time for it in the morning, I did it as soon as I got home from the hospital. Alice...she always looked forward to that. I don't know why." He gave another quiet laugh, but this time, it was more sad than fond. And almost...confused.

"I do," I said quietly, giving him a small smile. Carlisle didn't say anything, but he wrapped an arm behind my back, his eyes still on the photo. When I turned the page after a moment, I saw that her hair was a little shorter in the next couple of photos. Some of the disheveled curls were gone, but the girl's smile wasn't.

"She somehow got duct tape in her hair one day," Carlisle explained. "A lot of it. God only knows how. Esme had to cut it out." He shook his head. There was a sparkle in his eyes I had never seen before, and at first, he didn't even seem to be aware of that small change himself.

I leaned my head against his shoulder. "Thank you for showing this to me," I said quietly. I felt him draw in a steadying breath, and then he took my hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Is there a reason why you...keep the album in the bedside drawer?" I asked carefully.

I felt him give a small shrug. "I sometimes take it out at night and look through it," he murmured. "In my dreams, she's always...gone. Lifeless. And I...when I wake up, I just need to see her, see what she was like when she was alive. To make myself believe she really was alive and breathing. That she existed." He exhaled slowly. "And when I see those photos..." he trailed off, and when he didn't continue, I squeezed his hand.

"Does it help at all?" I asked. "Looking at them?"

"Yes...and no. It's...hard to explain."

"Have you ever considered putting one of them in a frame? I mean, I know you carry a photo of her in your wallet, but maybe having one on the bedside table, for instance..."

He shook his head before I managed to finish, and I fell silent.

"It wouldn't make a difference," he murmured, his voice suddenly distant. "Esme keeps photos of her everywhere in her house, and she always encouraged me to do the same, but...I just don't understand how she can stand it. I used to wonder if she had a masochistic streak or something. Or maybe..." his words trailed off into silence.

"Or maybe what?" I asked, suddenly having a feeling what he'd left unsaid was somehow important.

He shook his head. "Nothing. Never mind."

I tightened my hold around his hand. He met my gaze, and he seemed to consider for a moment. Then, he sighed softly and dropped his eyes to the photos again. His voice was forcibly calm as he spoke, like he was trying to distance himself from the words.

"Maybe Esme doesn't find it...unbearable...to see Alice's face every day, simply because her sorrow is pure, in a way. Nothing taints her grief. She has no reason to feel...guilty. She has no reason to believe she's the one to blame."

I closed my eyes momentarily, as realization dawned on me. "And you have a reason to feel like that? Like you're the one to blame?" I wanted him to look at me, but he kept his eyes on the photos.

"I was a doctor," he answered, speaking quietly, but with a surprisingly hard tone. "I should've been able to help her. I should've been able to do more."

"Doctors aren't all-powerful beings," I said softly.

"And I wouldn't have needed to be all-powerful to help her. If only I…if I'd just–" He heaved out a breath and raked a hand through his hair, shaking his head.

"If you'd...what?" I asked quietly. "If you'd done better? If you'd tried harder? Are you saying you didn't do all those things?"

Carlisle closed his eyes. "Maybe there was something I missed. Something I should've focused on first."

I drew in a deep breath. "Edward told me something...about her injuries. And he also told me the people who examined her...afterwards...said there was nothing more you or anyone could've done."

His lids fluttered open, and his eyes went to a photo where Alice was dressed as a fairy, or maybe an angel; it looked like a Halloween costume.

"Maybe I should've done something less," he murmured, speaking slowly. "What if some of my actions...made her condition worse...and contributed to her death? Even hastened it?"

I kept looking at him, but he either ignored it on purpose, or he just couldn't make himself look away from the picture of little Alice dressed as an angel.

"So, it's one or the other?" I asked. "You either did too much, or you did too little?" I paused, expecting him to say something, but he didn't. "Do no harm, right? No matter what, you'll always believe you failed to follow that principle."

He closed his eyes again. "It's not about failing to follow principles or precepts. It's about failing in other ways. In worst ways possible. It's about having a small, bleeding child in your arms, about knowing you only have a few seconds to decide what to do. It's about knowing that, if you end up making a mistake, it'll be impossible to go back and change it. It's about...suddenly having to find out that...there's a very thin veil between life and death. It's about wanting to do almost anything to be the one walking through that veil, just as long as it's not your child who has to walk through it."

He opened his eyes, and then he looked at me. But it was almost like...like there was no one behind those eyes. His voice was distant and hard again. "In a couple of days, it'll be fourteen years since it happened. Fourteen years. I've had my fair share of bargaining with God during all that time, Bella. And I've also had my fair share of conversations and arguments with Esme, Edward and an occasional therapist, and nothing they've said has managed to make me feel differently about this. Nothing they've said has eased my feelings of guilt. And I doubt there's anything you can say now."

He withdrew his hand from mine and got up, and I watched him, as he walked out of the room. Even the sound of his footfalls was weary.

And then...there was just a silence full of emptiness and exhaustion. There was a part of me that wasn't very surprised he was pushing me away. That same part had been caught unawares, when he had showed me the album, when I'd discovered what was inside. And now, seeing him walk away to distance himself from me both physically and emotionally...

It made me feel...not disappointed, no. But something like inadequate. Because, he was right – there wasn't a thing I could say to him. I had no idea what he was going through, after all. And if Edward and Esme, not to mention his current therapist, hadn't managed make him see sense...what chances did I have?

None, probably. Did it mean I just had to accept the fact that he would keep blaming himself for what happened? Edward had said Carlisle had a twisted sense of responsibility. Now, I was kind of beginning to see what he had meant. And maybe his feelings of grief and guilt were so tightly knit together that one didn't exist without the other. If so...it was no wonder he couldn't move on.

I wondered idly if the relationship with his own father had anything to do with this. Carlisle had said his father had been an intolerant, angry man, and he'd left when Carlisle had been very young. Was it possible he was comparing himself to him? His father had failed his family by leaving, after all, by not being a good father, and Edward had said Carlisle still keeps feeling like he had failed Alice.

I shook my head, trying to wrap my mind around all this. I knew I should probably go talk to Edward one of these days, if I wanted to get more insight on this matter. I didn't know where his house was – I only knew he lived on the other side of the city. I'd have to ask Carlisle about it, or maybe he would tell me where Edward's office was. Since our relationship was now official, he wouldn't find it strange that I wanted to know more about his brother.

I wouldn't ask about it tonight, though. Looking over my shoulder, I stared at the door through which Carlisle had disappeared a moment ago. I wondered if he was feeling as if I'd confronted him just now. If so, I wondered how offended he felt. Maybe he thought I had questioned his feelings, and that obviously hadn't been my intention. Or maybe...maybe this topic was just that hard for him, as simple as that, and that was why he wanted to be alone. Edward had said Carlisle refused talk about Alice with anyone except Esme. The fact that he was willing to talk about this with me at all was...significant.

I wanted to go to him, but something told me my presence wouldn't soothe him. I looked down at the album again, running a finger over the photo of Alice dressed as an angel. Sighing quietly, I closed the album and put it back in the bedside drawer. After placing the silver wedding ring on top of it, I pushed the drawer closed.

I left the bedside light on as I crawled under the covers, and I forced myself to lie awake for a long time. Maybe there was nothing I could say to Carlisle, nothing I could do for him, and maybe all he wanted to do was to be alone, but...at least I could stay awake and face the night together with him, even if we weren't in the same room.

It must have been sometime after midnight when something interrupted my light sleep, and I realized I had broken my wordless promise to stay awake. I didn't know what it was that woke me up – maybe it was the sudden darkness, as the bedside light was turned off. The bed jostled slightly, and then there was a warm, comforting weight next to me.

I stirred as I felt warm lips press against my cheek, very lightly and softly. Carlisle stilled as he felt my small movement.

"Did I wake you?" he whispered.

I shook my head, but then I remembered it was dark. "No, I mean...I was waiting for you," I answered sleepily.

His nose nuzzled my ear, and he snuggled into me, with his arm over my chest. "You didn't have to. I didn't mean to keep you awake. I'm sorry. "

"I wanted to talk to you. To say...some things," I murmured and dragged my eyes open, trying to leave behind the heaviness of sleep. "When we were talking earlier...I didn't mean to tell you how to feel. I'm sorry."

"You don't have to apologize. And you weren't telling me how to feel. You were just...trying to help me see things how you see them. How everyone seems to see them. Everyone except me." I felt him sigh, his warm breath brushing against my neck.

"What does that tell you?" I asked softly. "If you're the only one who sees these matters in a certain way..."

He didn't answer for a while. "It tells me...that I live in an invisible prison I've built myself," he murmured. "And since it's invisible...I have no way to free myself. To bring down its walls."

I turned onto my side, facing him and pressing my forehead to his. He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me closer. "But what if I can see those walls?" I asked. "What if they're not invisible to me?"

He drew in a slow, shaky breath and tightened his hold around me. "It shouldn't matter. I don't want this to become your burden, Bella," he whispered, his voice suddenly unsteady. "I don't want you to suffer...just because I suffer."

Something about his voice tugged at my heart, and I reached out a hand, running my fingers over his cheekbones. When they came back wet, I shifted closer to him and tucked his head under my chin, running my fingers through his hair in a soothing manner. I felt his warm breaths against my neck and chest; they were slow, forcibly even and controlled. It was as if the thought of falling to pieces in front of me was something he couldn't consider, not even in complete darkness. It was as if it would make him somehow weaker, letting me see him vulnerable. The mere thought was ironic – he was probably the strongest person I knew. A few tears, or an ocean of them, wouldn't change it.

I continued to run my fingers through his hair, even after his breathing had evened out. His wet eyelashes grazed the skin of my neck.

"I know I can't just...wish your pain away. If only I could. If only it were so simple," I murmured softly. "It hurts me to see you in pain, and it hurts me that I have no way to help you. All I really have is just a few clumsy words, if even that." I paused, swallowing. "And when you say you don't want this to become my burden..."

I felt him give a sad sigh. "I just feel...responsible. I know how much I make Esme and Edward worry. I know they've spent more than a few sleepless nights because of me. I just...I don't want it to be you."

"Just let me worry about myself. And besides, I think you're worth some sleep deprivation. You just have to learn to believe it, too. And since we're on the subject...this is one of your biggest stumbling blocks. I don't know if you're aware of it yourself. You have to stop feeling responsible or guilty about every little thing. You can't feel responsible for making Esme worry, or making Edward worry, or making me worry. Worrying is not going to kill us. You have to let others be responsible for their own feelings. You can't control everything; you have to accept that."

I felt him breathe out slowly. "You're right. I suppose I have been...trying to control everything too much. I know it's useless, but it's the only thing I have. It's the only thing that helps me stay...sane. Or at least that's what I've told myself." He paused. "And as useless as it is...I just keep hoping no one would burden themselves with my problems."

"Just like the people around you keep hoping you'll let go of your guilt. That you'll no longer blame yourself for what happened."

"Bella..."

"I know. There's nothing I can say. I'm sure Esme and Edward have given you this same speech many times over the years, and it hasn't changed the way you feel about it. And that's the point, I think. No one else but you can make you see differently about this. Only you can choose to walk that path. I may be able to see the invisible walls you've built...but only you can bring them down. But you have to choose to see them first. And you refuse to do that. That's the problem here."

He was silent for a long time before speaking. "Edward said something similar to me once. And I wanted to tell him that it's not so simple. I wanted to tell him that…if I choose to believe there was nothing I could've done to save...Alice...if I choose to believe I'm not the one to blame...then it'd mean there really was nothing I could've done. It'd mean I have to accept what happened. That I have to accept the possibility that she never had any chances. How could I do that?"

He swallowed hard. "Fathers...they're supposed to watch over their children. They're supposed to make sure nothing happens to them. They're supposed to keep them safe, no matter what. If it's true there was nothing more I could've done to help her...then, what was the point? What does that make me, knowing I never had the means to save her? Why did I become a father, when it had to end like this? Why did I become a doctor, when it turned out my medical skills were not enough? What was the point, Bella?"

His open, naked confusion saddened me more than his despair. "I don't know," I whispered. "I don't have an answer to those questions. I don't think anyone does." I paused, nuzzling his hair with my nose. "But as much as I'd like to give you answers, any answers, I'm not going to start feeding you that crap about how everything happens for a reason."

He gave a soft, surprised laugh; he hadn't expected me to say something like that. "You don't believe in those things?"

I considered his question. "I believe...we all have a purpose," I answered carefully. "But...I just feel that, trying to comfort someone who's grieving by saying something like that isn't helpful. It may sound comforting, but it's not. Not always, anyway. And if I said something like that to you...I'd practically be saying your daughter was given to you, only to be taken away from you. It'd sound like it was her only purpose, to be born and to die way too soon, and that can't be true. I refuse to believe that." I let out a quiet sigh, idly running my fingers through his hair and down his neck.

"I always thought...her purpose was to bring joy to the people around her," I heard him murmur softly. "She wasn't exactly...the calmest child. She was always so full of happy energy, and putting her to bed at night, for instance, sometimes took some effort. Esme always said her personality was as unruly as her hair, and she used to tease Alice about it, saying that, when she'd grow up and start to behave, maybe her hair would begin to behave as well."

I gave a soft chuckle. "And what did Alice say to that?"

It was a moment before he answered. "She said...if her hair went all straight and boring...she'd never want to grow up."

I closed my eyes, my mind filling with images of the raven-haired girl and her mischievous smile. I wondered how often Carlisle and Esme had thought of those innocent words, after they had realized Alice's hair would always stay unruly, that it would never start to behave, because the chance to grow and change had been taken away from her.

I suddenly began to wonder if there was some wisdom in Carlisle's adamant decision not to have more children. I tried to imagine what it would be like to have a tiny, vulnerable human to take care of, to protect. Would my days be filled with endless worry and fear? Would I be able to enjoy parenthood, now that I'd seen how terribly it could end, how deep of scars it could leave if the worst happened?

I didn't know. I was suddenly strangely glad I wouldn't have to. Drawing in a slow breath, I pressed my cheek against the top of Carlisle's head, thinking about all those things we'd been talking about. A soft, sad laugh left my lips.

"What?" Carlisle asked quietly, his arms tightening around me.

"Nothing. It just occurred to me it's the middle of the night, and here we are, talking about life purposes."

He chuckled. "Deep and meaningful conversations always tend to take place at night, I suppose." I felt him shift and pull away, and he rolled onto his back, drawing me against him. I rested my head on his chest and threw my arm around him. "What is your purpose, Bella?" he suddenly asked. "What do you think?"

"My purpose?" I smiled. "My purpose is to make sure the people of Seattle will always have coffee."

He gave a soft laugh. "You have a very important role to play, I admit. You make many people's mornings better. But...you have other purposes, too. Never forget that."

His words made me warm. "Like what?"

He pressed a soft kiss on my hair. "A moment ago, you said it hurts you that you can't help me. That all you have is just a few clumsy words. But that's not true, Bella. That's very far from the truth. Because, you do help me. I don't think I've ever told you just how much, but the truth is you do.

"I sometimes stop to think what would've happened if...if I'd never met you. What if your truck hadn't started to act up all those months ago? Or what if you'd decided to take a cab that one rainy night, and I hadn't run into you? What if you hadn't injured your hand, and therefore, I wouldn't have had a reason to bring you here to my house? What if I hadn't seen you with Rosalie at the restaurant a couple of days later?" He paused.

"You kept showing up whenever I least expected it, and...and when you eventually made it known you'd like to run into me in the future as well, I found it hard to believe you. I couldn't understand why such a captivating, young woman like you would choose to spend her time with a sullen, withdrawn man like me."

I chuckled at his description. "You never seemed sullen to me," I told him. "A little remote and...sorrowful, perhaps. I noticed it for the first time when you were taking care of my hand, and I remember wondering if you ever felt lonely in this big house. I wondered if that's what made you look so...sad. Rosalie and I spent a lot of time trying to figure you out, but the best theory we could come up with was that you'd lost your high school sweetheart or something."

His hand was stroking my hair idly. "Does...Rosalie know?" he asked quietly. "Why I've been behaving like I have?"

I tried to read his tone, but it was hard. "Yeah. A few days after you'd left, she came to see me. She wanted to know why you'd left, and I told her...everything. Maybe I should've just said to her that our thing ended because it didn't just work out, and that's why you decided to leave, but...I don't know. Be as it may, I never meant to disrespect your privacy by telling her."

"I know that," he assured me. "And I'm not upset that you told her. I understand why you did. She's your best friend, after all. And I'm sure you had a lot to deal with after hearing all those things from Edward, and you needed someone to talk to. Especially since...I wasn't there." His voice was apologetic.

"You're here now," I reminded him. "That's what matters."

He placed a kiss on my hair, and then he wrapped his arms around me, pulling me impossibly close to him and holding on tight. "And I'll stay," he promised, "If that's what you truly want, Bella. I'll never leave your side."

I smiled, pressing my ear against his chest and listening to the steady throb of his heart. "Are you staying because you're afraid Rosalie will make good on her threat and 'go medieval on your male parts,' like she promised?"

"A little," he admitted, chuckling.

"Well, you should be. She works at a beauty salon, which means she has an impressive variety of scissors, clippers and tweezers at her disposal."

He chuckled again. "I'll definitely bear that in mind."