Thanks to addicttwilight2 and to all those kind enough to read and review. Standard disclaimers apply.
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In secret we met
In silence I grieve
That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive.
If I should meet thee
After long years,
How should I greet thee?
With silence and tears.
"When We Two Parted", Lord Byron.
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Chapter Eleven: Silence
He was such an idiot.
"This is stupidly risky," he warned her, out of the corner of his mouth. "This is just... plain stupid."
She swallowed. "I know," she said, her voice small, her lost eyes looking up at him.
He sighed, turned from her, though it went against his every natural impulse. "Let's go."
"Wait." He turned back to see her arms outstretched to him. "Can I... can you..."
He knew what she wanted – or what he thought she wanted. And he thought his throat would crack wide open from the lump in it.
He set his mouth in a firm line. "You're just as fast as me now, Bella," he said harshly. "See for yourself."
She lowered her arms back to her sides, looking ridiculously disappointed.
Then they flew silently towards the forest, towards the reservation, towards the treaty line.
Nothing about any of this made sense. Why had she chased him? Why had she yelled at him? And why, for the love of all that was good and pure, why had he yelled back?
For all intents and purposes, she was little more than a child right now. To heap the blame of her previous cunning upon her, to blame this stranger for the faults his wife had committed, well... that was just plain wrong. Not to mention stupid.
And, if Jasper and Emmett were right in their suspicions...
Finally he was allowing himself to think about it, warily. In a way it would be so much easier to understand – if Bella had been placed in his household by some malevolent Volturian watchdog, if her sole purpose was to torment him further. That would actually be easier to accept than the alternative – than believing they'd been given this second chance because they somehow deserved it.
If Bella's aim was to witness his destruction, she was about six months too late. Nothing could be worse than living in the knowledge that she didn't love him anymore.
Then again, there was no reason for him to bare his jugular to her, to place his heart and soul and manhood into her hands and let her tear him to pieces... again. Christ sake, he could show a little restraint. This woman who looked so like the wife he'd once lost – she was nothing but a stranger whom he had no reason to trust.
And yet, here he was, pandering to her every whim.
Maybe this was a trap. Maybe this had been her aim all along – to entice him out to these woods, alone, so that Jacob Black could finally tear him apart.
Briefly he considered stopping, turning back, letting her go on alone. Or dropping his pace so he could run behind her, watch for danger, make his escape if necessary.
He sighed and let the idea go, let the weight of his pathos sit heavily back on his shoulders. He knew he could not do that – couldn't sit back and let Bella risk her life, or place her between him and danger. The idea was sickening. And he reflected that if Black was lying in wait to be his executioner, well... really the dog would be doing him a favour. Ironic, really. Death would be easy compared to living alongside Bella – all he'd ever wanted and never deserved.
The reservation was within sight now, he noticed, putting a restraining hand on his wife's arm – ignoring the way his skin flashed hot with the contact. The last thing he wanted was to cross the treaty line – adding a war with the wolves to the mess his life had become might finally tip him over the edge.
They slowed, and stopped. Bella's foot was twitching impatiently, exactly 4/5ths of an inch from the border.
"Shush," he warned gruffly, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he embraced his gift – pushing it so it swept through the Quileute lands, searching for conscious thought.
His body relaxed infinitesimally. "Sam is coming," he informed her distractedly, focusing on the wolf's thoughts. They were – typically – wary.
Sam's body – his human body – appeared through the trees. Edward chuckled inwardly, watching Bella's whole body recoil as the stench hit her. He turned his body slightly towards her, intending to make a crack about how now she finally understood what they'd been talking about for so long – and reconsidered when he saw her chalky face, her wide, tremulous eyes.
"Edward. We've been expecting you." Sam's greeting was cordial – on the surface at least. It had been so long since he'd used his skills in any purposeful way – he was unable to sift through the endless shifting maze of the dog's thoughts, unable to divine his intentions.
Bella's voice broke the air between them. "Where's Jacob?" she whispered hoarsely. Her entire body was curved into his, seeking – what? Protection? Affirmation? Support?
He nearly snorted in self-derision. After all this time, he still assumed she wanted him to act like a husband towards her.
Sam let his eyes linger upon Bella's face. Edward realised that the dog was troubled – for what reason he could not tell.
"Jacob is at home," he said quietly.
He could hear his wife's breath whoosh into her lungs in relief. He balled his hands into two fists.
"He's alive, then?" he asked tightly.
Sam's gaze was full of sadness, of the weight of responsibility. His reply was succinct. "Barely."
Bella swallowed audibly, then licked her lips. "Do you know what happened?" she whispered.
Sam's face snapped in shock. "You don't remember?" he asked in disbelief.
For a simple mutt, his mind was remarkably controlled, and so Edward could not glean even a second's advance time between his thoughts and his words. He was reduced to simply listening as Sam spoke.
"Early in the year," he began, watching them both guardedly, "Jacob came to me and informed me that you needed assistance – that your life, and the lives of others, depended on it. Naturally I was wary, considering who you'd married, the choice you'd made..."
At this Edward lost control and snarled, briefly flashing his teeth. Sam remained unperturbed.
"I could not convince Jacob to consider things more fully, to involve anybody else, or even to wait until the night was out. He departed with you that same night."
Bella's breaths were hissing into her lungs by now. "Did he tell you why I came to him?"
Sam shook his head. "He told me that the less people knew the better – which is why he has not assumed his wolf form since. He maintained regular contact with Leah, which is the only way we knew he was even still alive." His voice tightened. "The next time any of us saw him was when he was unceremoniously dumped here yesterday, with nearly every bone in his body broken."
Bella cried out hoarsely, her body sagging against his. Sam let a single thought slip from behind his impassive mental mask – after all that Jacob done for her, she still chooses the leech... then again, she's one of them now...
Edward's voice was low, deadly. "Did he say who did it?"
Sam shook his head. "He hasn't yet regained consciousness."
He could feel every line of Bella's body trembling, almost vibrating with emotion. "Will he be okay?" she choked.
Sam's lip curled. "No thanks to you."
Edward bridled at the insult, though his wife seemed to ignore it completely.
Sam stepped back, his entire body screaming go away. "I've told you all I know," he informed them coldly. "If you value what Jacob has done for you at all, you will leave him in peace now."
Edward stepped forward and opened his mouth, ready to protest, but was stayed by the shocking sensation of his wife's fingers squeezing his.
He looked back at her, watching in confusion as she stepped forward to address Sam one more time. "Please... when you see him..." She stopped as her voice broke and swallowed. "Please tell him I said... I can never thank him enough," she beseeched, her eyes pleading. "Please will you tell him that?"
The pack leader nodded curtly once, then disappeared from whence he'd come.
He opened his mouth to speak – not sure of what he wanted to stay – but was flummoxed by the sight of his wife turning her back to him and walking away, towards the trees.
Confused, he followed her.
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She didn't stop moving until they'd reached a clearing in the middle of the woods. It was not the meadow. He had to swallow a lump in his throat once he realised how badly he'd wanted it to be.
Watching her, he felt insubstantial, as though he were watching the entire scene from a great distance. He wondered bitterly how it was that he could see the lines of her body flowing in movement and want her so badly, and in the next instant catch a glimpse of her eyes and feel an anger so intense he shivered with the force of it. It was all there – every answer he wanted lurked in her secretive brain, locked behind her eyes, and if he were just a little crazier, he might have wanted to crush her skull like an egg just to see what would come flying out.
She was breathing very slowly and deliberately. He approached her cautiously.
"Bella?" he asked, his voice full of trepidation.
Slowly, she pivoted to face him. Her face was a mask of calm, but he sensed her thoughts whirring beneath, like how herculean movements of the deepest layers of earth could sometimes be felt by the people above as a subtle tremor.
"I don't understand any of this," she murmured, and there it was – the tremor. He watched her carefully.
Her hand reached up and worried at her forehead. He ached with tenderness for that gesture, so familiar in another life.
"I remember... I remember some parts, but not others," she said, her eyes closed, her voice shaking. "I don't understand – any of it. It's just... it's so..."
Her eyes snapped open in shock. He wondered why for a moment, before realising that with every word she'd said, he'd moved closer to her until his hand finally came to rest on her soft cheek, his thumb working out the small knot between her eyebrows.
He inhaled sharply and took a step backwards. "Sorry," he mumbled, horrified. "Sorry, I –"
She was moving closer. "It's okay," she whispered. "I..."
"What?" He stared at her.
She looked defeated. "Nothing."
He clenched his fists, trying so hard to contain his frustration.
"Why don't you tell me what you remember?" he inquired, fighting to keep his tone gentle.
She looked at him with wide and trusting eyes. "Is that smart? This... Edward, I know this must be frustrating for you..."
No you don't, he thought silently. You have absolutely no idea.
"I'll be fine," he said curtly, wincing inwardly as he noted her flinch.
She paused for a long time, thinking. Her right hand scratched idly at her left forearm, and for a moment he thought his wife's intermittent eczema had flared up, and almost raised his hand to cool the irritating rash with his flesh. The sun glittered inhumanly on her exposed skin, taunting him.
"There..." she began, and stopped, thinking again. "He... I went to him. Jacob, I mean." As if he needed clarification.
"When?" he asked, barely noticing how his impatience leaked through the simple word.
She licked her lips, pained. "I... I don't know."
He nodded brusquely, motioning to her to continue.
"I was upset. I don't know why." She paused again, her forehead screwing up like it always did when she thought deeply. "You... you weren't there. I don't – I can't remember –"
He cut her off. "I was hunting. With my family. That weekend, after everything... after you..."
...made love to me... made me hope we could find a way back to each other... and left.
He couldn't say it.
Her voice was slightly braver now that she'd ascertained he wasn't going to go ballistic.
"I went to Jake, and I asked for help... I told him my life depended on it, and three hours later we left."
He swallowed. "What do you mean, your life depended on it?"
She shrugged helplessly. He bit back a groan. How was it that she could remember everything except the one detail that would explain the rest?
He ignored the larger truth struggling to get through, the one saying she was afraid of you, your wife thought you would kill her if she tried to leave, your wife ran to a dog for protection instead of to you, and watched her intently.
Her shoulders were slumped in defeat, but her eyes were bright with relief as she looked at him. Sharing this burden with him was making her feel better.
That thought was so incongruent with what he'd once believed about Bella – a woman full of secrets, of lies – that he flicked it off like an offending gnat.
"What's wrong? Why won't you talk to me? Have you been – Bella, have you been crying? Bella, please, I can't fix this if you won't talk to me..."
"What are you thinking?" she whispered. He looked at her and could not reconcile the image of this woman standing in front of him with the wife he'd known. She seemed so innocent, pure and beautiful. She was perfect, so how could she have hurt him so badly? She was everything he wanted, so why did he hate her so much?
She moved closer to him. Her fingers brushed against his, and his body snapped to attention.
He shook his head furiously. "Please. Don't."
She cocked her head to the side, like a small inquisitive bird. "Why not?"
Something large and hard was blocking his throat, making him hoarse. "Just don't."
She licked her lips. He watched hungrily.
"I'm sorry," she offered shyly. "I just feel... I feel better when I'm touching you."
He was aware that a large part of himself was so closed off and bitter that it just wanted to lash out at her – to hurt her in any of the myriad of ways she'd tortured him, to make her hurt just as badly as he – but looking at her like this, so innocent and naive, so like the girl he'd first met, he couldn't find it in him.
The realisation should have brought him solace. Instead, all he felt was a dull despair. Would he never learn? Was there anything she could do to make him stop loving her so violently?
Her face had fallen at his silence. He sighed.
"Bella," he said gently. "Bella, you don't remember anything about me, do you?"
She watched him hopefully. "I remember that you're my husband," she whispered reverently. "I remember that I –"
He held his hand out to her palm up. "You don't really mean that, though, do you?" he asked. "You don't actually remember me proposing to you, and you don't remember marrying me. All you know about me is what Aro told you, right?"
She bit her lip, nodded.
"Do you see how that's not the same?" he asked softly. "You don't remember what happened between us, but I do. You don't know the why, and neither do I – but Bella, I can guess, and my guesses are usually pretty accurate. And I can't – I can't be around you for when you remember that. I can't do it. I'm not strong enough."
Her bottom lip was trembling.
"You don't want to be married to me anymore," she said flatly.
He chose to ignore that. He had to.
"I'm here for you," he said quietly. "I'll be your friend, if you want me to be. And I'll help you in any way I can. But I – I can't give you more than that, Bella. Not like this. It'll rip me apart."
Her eyes were very sad. He felt as though he was kicking a puppy.
She opened her mouth. He was terrified, absolutely terrified of what she might say, and so he cleared his throat loudly and stepped to the side, motioning to her.
"We should head back to the house," he said softly.
Stiffly, his wife nodded. Walking with her through the trees, he thought that somehow, despite their previous months of separation, she had never felt further away.
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