A/N: A few beautiful readers were concerned this was the last chapter. I wouldn't leave without saying goodbye! There will be one more chapter and a little epilogue, the way things are looking at the moment. Thanks again for all your love and support.
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At the end of each day, the Cullens observe a form of night. The energy downshifts; everyone retreats to their own spaces. Usually I find it soothing, but today anxiety swells as each person gets up to leave the room. Edward and I haven't talked at all, spending Christmas Day here on the sofa loosely curled into one another. But as Alice clicks off the twinkling Christmas lights and slips quietly out to leave us alone, Edward just stretches back to lie down, pulling me with him. I realize I'm content to stay right here, lost in thought and still, his arm warm around me as he holds me against him.
It feels like every night he held me in Forks. It feels nothing like that at all.
In the morning, he kisses the top of my head as he stirs and sits up, murmuring, "Dress warm, I want to take you somewhere."
Edward agrees that we can take my new car, a concession made all the more surprising when he sees what Carlisle bought me. "Are you kidding me?" he scowls with an incredulous expression. "Is this a hybrid?"
I nod proudly as I slide behind the wheel. I'd been insistent when Esme called to sound me out on my gift.
"You go from a gas-guzzling behemoth of a truck that couldn't make the speed limit, to a ridiculous, faux-environmentally-friendly mockery of a car that also can't make the speed limit."
"It's a Lexus!" I retort, affronted on behalf of my new vehicle.
"Bella, it's an engine that doesn't need fuel. That's like a plant that doesn't need the sun."
"Like a vampire that doesn't need human blood?" I fire back, and we smile at each other. I resist the urge to stick my tongue out at him, as we pull out of the parking garage and he directs me through the snow-covered Chicago streets. The roads are quiet. It's early, and most people are still sleeping off their Christmas revelry.
"Pull up here," he says, indicating a space alongside a barren, snow-covered park on our right. As I get out to join him on the sidewalk, I'm staggered by the imposing stone building towering over us, stretching for a full two city blocks. The doors are boarded up, but the magnificent Beaux-Arts architecture is timeless. Winter-bared ivy curls around the columns and cherubs like a network of dark veins.
"This is the original Cook County Hospital."
I pick out the name now, engraved in the weathered masonry above the front doors. Such a gorgeous edifice, standing empty. What a waste. Humanity so fixated on abandoning the past, speeding toward a shiny future. This building is a monument, a work of art.
"It didn't look anything like this on E.R." I whisper, awed.
Edward chuckles.
"Did you work here at some point?" I try to imagine Doctor Masen, dressed for another era, white-capped nurses with seams up the back of their stockings swooning in his wake.
Edward is silent, seemingly miles away as he stares up at the building. I lace my fingers through his, squeezing his hand to get his attention. He looks down at me with a pensive expression.
"Sorry, no...I...This is where I died, Bella. This is where Carlisle saved me."
I stare at him, speechless.
"I haven't been back here in years. Decades. I just...You've had me thinking about history and beginnings. I wanted to show you mine."
"I want your journals back," I respond impulsively.
It's Edward's turn to look surprised.
"I returned them because I was furious, and they weren't a substitute for you fronting up and being honest about where you'd been and why. Now, though...I want to know, Edward. Where you worked; who you knew. I have these threads from the stories the family has told me. I want to connect them."
"You can have the journals," he says immediately. "But Bella, I'd rather do it this way. I want to tell you the stories in person, and take you to the places myself."
He leans back against the hood of the car, taking both my hands in his.
"Quit your job, Bella. I want to take you to the house we lived in in Rochester and the villa Carlisle has in Tuscany. Let me show you where I lived in London in the seventies. There's an island, off the coast of Brazil, that Carlisle named after Esme. God, Bella, this world is so big."
His face lights up with enthusiasm as he talks. I think about my copies of the Lonely Planet, with their dog-earred corners and bright, hopeful Post-its. My fake passport with its empty pages. Edward pushes up off the car, and presses a kiss to my forehead before opening the door for me. "You don't have to decide now. Just...think about it."
He directs me to Washington Park. The snow has settled into ugly, icy piles, and the trees around us are black and skeletal. I pick my way carefully, trying not to slip. The fountain is empty for the winter, drifts piled up around the plinths of the famous sculpture depicting the progression of time.
"Carlisle brought me here, when I finally had my thirst under control. Taft had just finished installing it."
"It's kind of ugly." One side of the fountain is a long brace of concrete figures. They look like ghouls, straining and rushing forward. Soldiers, young children, a tidal wave of humanity charging toward an unknown end. I look at the foreboding solitary figure standing tall on the other side of the pool. "Are you saying that we're Death?"
"That's not Death," Edward responds with a laugh, "It's Father Time."
"Whatever. He's creepy."
Edward drags me into him, wrapping his arms around me and tucking his chin on my shoulder as we stare at the statue. "Alas, time stays, we go..."
"Time doesn't stand still for us, Edward. I'm only just beginning to understand that."
He spins me around, placing his hands on my shoulders, toying with the edges of the frothy scarf Alice gave me for Christmas.
"So come with me. See the world."
I could disappear into the smile he's giving me and never be found. The Edward I remember from when I was human was worried all the time, his features strained. The Edward I've known since his return has been careful, contrite. But here, in the washed-out winter greys of this park, is my Edward. Blinding, beautiful, bright like a supernova.
I realize a truth long buried. I'll go anywhere he wants me to.
Alice calls, breaking the silence, her 911 ringtone daring us not to ignore her.
"The weather's turning, Bella-bear, sun's coming out. Scoot back indoors for awhile."
She's right. In more ways than one.
On New Year's Eve, Alice insists we go out. Carlisle and Esme tell us to go and have fun, undoubtedly grateful to have the house to themselves for an evening.
I didn't pack for Alice's brand of entertainment, but she drags me to the closet in my bedroom to reveal a stunning black dress with a plunging neckline. The top layer is raw-edged, sheer, with tiny sequins scattered sparsely over it. Alice eventually concedes that I can wear boots, instead of the teetering heels she bought me, but forces me to sit for an undue amount of time fussing with my hair and make-up.
When we come back downstairs the guys are waiting by the front door, and I can't take my eyes off Edward, his crisp white shirt, or his thin black tie.
Emmett miraculously produced tickets to a party at Coq D'Or in the Drake Hotel. The lush red leather and dark wood is like something out of Hollywood's golden age. "I was here the day this bar opened," Edward whispers with a grin, as he steers me through the crowd. "The day Prohibition ended."
We have seats at a table tucked into a corner, with a great view of the musicians. When I quiz Emmett he spreads his hands wide as if to say, naturally, this is all his doing. But Rosalie just rolls her eyes and mouths, "Money talks."
The siblings spend the evening reminiscing. Stories about New Year's past, mortifying outfits, ill-chosen holiday locations. Jasper has me in stitches with a tale about a girl so drunk she didn't notice anything different about Emmett, spending the evening glued to his side until Rosalie forcibly ejected her from the bar. I feel like I'm gasping for breath once Rose gets on to the time Alice and Jasper decided to get married again in Vegas, and the Elvis impersonator turned out to be drunk.
As it nears midnight, the bar becomes more crowded and drunken revellers press against our table as they dance and cheer. The smell of blood around us is a rich, thick wall of heat. Edward senses my growing discomfort, and suggests we leave.
"We can't go now, it's nearly midnight!" I hate being the weakest. I feel a fresh wave of empathy from Jasper, who smiles at me from across the table.
Edward shakes his head, and says, "It's okay. I have something else in mind."
We say goodnight to the others and head through the lobby to the elevators. Edward produces a key card to access one of the upper hotel floors. The suite he lets us into has the most stunning views, downtown Chicago lit up like Alice's Christmas tree, reflecting and shimmering in the lake stretching before us.
"This is beautiful."
"I thought you might need a break. I can't imagine how hard it must be for you in crowds like that."
"Thank you." He's right. I feel like I can breathe again.
"My motives aren't entirely unselfish. Crowds like that are tough for me too, even after all this time. It's like the party is happening inside my skull. Being around you is restful."
Even inside the suite, we can hear the noise start to escalate in the streets and bars below, and suddenly the night sky over the lake is a riotous garden of color as the fireworks display begins. The lights hang impossibly long overhead, sparkling and disintegrating just as the sound reaches us.
"Happy New Year, Bella."
The kiss is soft, all-encompassing. My hands find their way up to the back of his neck, his hair. There's a moment, just a split-second, where one of us should draw back and maintain this easy, comfortable truce between us. But then that moment is gone, and I realize I wanted it gone, and his hands are on my hips and I'm clutching at his jacket as if it were the only thing holding me up.
Edward's kiss is molten, his touch blazing against my skin, and I'm shoving at the jacket and yanking impatiently at his tie. He backs me toward to the bedroom, but we collide with the wall with a noisy thud, a painting knocking loose and crashing to the floor. My dress is suddenly in too many pieces, a drift of dark silk and sequins around my feet. My hands grasping at the smooth planes of Edward's back, the muscles tensing and lifting and pressing. His hands are under me, in me, on me. His mouth tracing, following, leading. Every place we touch courses with lightning.
Edward seems to have more presence of mind than I do, finding the doorway to the bedroom at last and laying me down across a soft down comforter. The blanket is cool against my back, Edward a fever dream above me. My teeth graze his earlobe, my lips press against his chest, his name is the only word left in my vocabulary.
His hands are everywhere and nowhere, my tongue catching the faintest taste of salt. It's as if we had rehearsed this for years - every moment aware of the other, every movement synchronized - and I let out a little gasp when I feel his teeth against my throat. There is no danger now; we've come that far.
"God, Bella, I love you," he rasps, pressing forward, pressing home.
Edward says my name over and over. My voice is caught somewhere, some place it can't be released. I feel more than I have possibly ever felt, across every inch of my skin. This is more intense, more powerful, more vivid. Edward has always been more.
I realize how things can change. I change, melting into Edward's touch. He changes, shifting, groaning under my hands and tongue. We are changing, we are moving. Together.
And then we're there, stepping over this precipice together, completing this sentence for one another, his fingers laced through mine. He's beautiful above me, surrounding me, my immortal love. And then he collapses forward, leaning over me as we descend, breathing each other's air.
"You're the whole universe, Bella," he whispers eventually, rolling slowly onto his back and taking me with him His fingers running through my hair. "You're the sum of all things."
I curl my leg across his, wrapping my arm possessively around him. He's right. This is ageless, this is ceaseless, this is always.
This is us.