AN I hope you like this, I got bunches of awesome feed-back from my readers; keep it coming!

This chapter's a bit shorter, but I promise it's good (I think). At least I updated sooner than I thought I would. But anyway, review, it keeps me going.

Songs: Everything is Beautiful – Anne Marie Boskovich and,

Little Lion Man – Mumford and Sons

Not Your Fault (It's Your Heart On the Line)

It was a lonely place – jail.

Carlisle twiddled his thumbs deprecatingly, his eyes following the graceful movements of his muscles contracting and retracting from under his steel hard skin. He rested his elbows on his knees, only his shoulders keeping his head from lolling to the side.

He didn't even want to be here – obviously no one would, but it was his location specifically that upset him. Instead of taking him to the county jail, they had decided to leave him under the watchful eye of Fork's finest, Charlie Swan. Something dangerous was close to happening, Carlisle knew it, he could sense it in the dense air. The air that, quite mysteriously, smelled of fresh blood, whiskey, and stale sex.

Carlisle sat, lonely, between three brick walls and twenty-six metal bars (he'd counted many times over). He was afraid to look up, worried that when he did, Charlie's scowling face would be peering down on him. That at least, even though Carlisle knew he wasn't there, a manifestation of a man he thought of as a father, would be.

There were no foot-steps, there was no beating heart (except for the ones outside, the, dare he say? Hundreds of them). Charlie wasn't even here.

What had possessed Charlie with the idea of leaving a supposed serial murderer (if that's what you would call him) alone?

He didn't care.

Carlisle laid back on his cot, it squeaked and addressed his senses with a faint smell of urine, but he ignored it. There wasn't anything he could do, anyway. He closed his eyes, resting his hands over his stomach and crossed one leg over the other; as if he considered sleeping.

What a mess he had gotten himself into; fuck, it wasn't even his fault. He didn't do this, he didn't hurt anybody, he was incapable of doing any such thing. Ask anyone that knew him personally, ask anyone that he worked with, that lived with him, that even talked with him. They would tell you the truth – he screwed his eyes together tightly, trying to imagine someone helping him, saving him from a mess that wasn't his own. But he couldn't.

He really fucked it up this time...

The sound of sodden gravel protesting under someone's snow tires alerted Carlisle to Charlie's return. He removed his hands from his stomach, crossing them behind his head, stilling himself and preparing for the onslaught of Charlie's anger. Would he try to ignore him? Would that make it worse? How would he approach it, then? Stupid, foolish, questions, and he knew it.

The front door slammed closed behind Charlie, squealing when he leaned against it in preparation. Thoughtfully, Charlie tapped his fingers against the chipping paint from the walls. He sighed, and Carlisle did too.

Carlisle's nerves were already on end; whatever happened here determined his sole situation with Bella. Whatever Charlie thought, whatever he determined, would be respected by Carlisle. Unfortunately, if that meant he could never see his little miss again, his Bella, he would have no choice but to abide. But this thought just seemed to make everything worse.

Charlie's shoes made an abnormal sound as he dragged his feet unwillingly. He slowed with each step closer to the cell of his son – as he'd already considered him as such when Bella told him her feelings. When Bella fell in love with Carlisle, Charlie did too - in that paternal, caring way. He treated Carlisle with the same respect that he gave his own daughter. And that was not to be taken lightly.

But for some reason, Charlie was afraid that when he reached the bars separating him from his daughter's fiance, he would see a different side of Carlisle, one that he never knew was there (little did Charlie know that there really was a different side of Carlisle. One that he probably never wanted to actually see). That when he tried to talk to him, explain the situation, Carlisle would be angered – would try something stupid.

Charlie reassuringly reached down to feel his loaded gun.

There was one thought on Charlie's mind.

God, somebody just shoot me already...

Carlisle was too worried to sit still, he once more removed his arms from where they rested, and placed his hands over his eyes. He did it in a vain attempt to dodge Charlie's anger, his disapproving glare, to help him ignore the scorching words that he imagined already hearing. The words he already imagined crawling their way up from Charlie's heart, to the base of his throat, to the tip of his tongue.

A slight, weak sob ripped from his nervous chest.

He really fucked up this time.

If he could cry, he would be.

"Carlisle... ?" Charlie stepped closer to the bars, closer to the grimy cell which held someone as dear to him as family. "son?" It was only a figure of speech, but he meant it when he called him anything such. He only said it as one last olive branch agreement between the two, he didn't want to believe that someone as gentle and goodhearted as Carlisle was, could do something so cold.

But the word, the name, was unexpected to Carlisle.

He tensed, rubbing his palms into his eyes to relax, then shakily ran his fingers through his tangled hair. "Yes, Charlie?" He sat up slowly, almost shakily, and leaned his weight on one elbow; his other hand still trying to rub the non-existing sleep from his face. Charlie didn't respond – Carlisle squinted his eyes and removed his hand from his face, searching Charlie's in the dim light instead. "What's wrong?" Carlisle sat up all the way, slowly pulling himself to his feet unsteadily.

Charlie grabbed the bars in front of him, trying to shake the tears from his eyes, the tears of relief. God, he'd been so stupid, how could he suspect that Carlisle harmed anyone? He was no better than the gossiping people of Forks, he was no better than the families camping outside.

The reporters, the townspeople, they had all gathered around the police station. Angry, unsuspecting, tired, they just wanted to see Carlisle pay for what he had supposedly done. It all made Charlie sick, especially when standing closest to the door, one of Carlisle's partners sat, red-faced and cursing no one near him. When he'd saw Charlie, he stood, screaming at him in anger.

"He better pay, you better make him pay!"

Charlie said nothing in response – his blank stare made the man quiet, made him say no more as he stumbled back to his family in the numbing cold.

"Charlie, are you alright?" Cold fingers wrapped around his fore-arm, making him jump in surprise.

"The more appropriate question would be, are you?" Charlie looked up at the tired face that seemed decades older than his own. He felt an irrefutable twist in his gut, it hurt to see Carlisle on death's row. His soft smile eased that guilt somewhat, but it was still noticeably there.

"No, I can't say that I am." Was Carlisle's only response.

"What can I do to help? Tell me, anything." Carlisle's smile wavered, he stared at Charlie seriously for a moment, but then looked towards the cracked cement flooring in embarrassment.

"There is something..." But he trailed off, turning his back to Charlie. "But first, I have a question."

"Yes?"

"Tell me, why aren't you upset?"

"Upset about what?" Charlie asked, raising an eyebrow in thought (a habit picked up from Renee while they were married). He already knew though, he was just stalling, trying to think of the right words to satisfy Carlisle.

"Aren't you angry that I supposedly deceived you by killing those innocent people?" His voice was loud, and just as broken as he was. "Why aren't you upset that Bella's engaged to me – that it could have been her I killed? You should be yelling at me, screaming, and condemning me to death." Charlie visibly flinched when Carlisle mentioned his only daughter. But he stood his ground, gritting his teeth and waiting for Carlisle to finish.

"Because you didn't do it, you're the one who's innocent." His voice softened, "I know you Carlisle, and this isn't you."

"How do you know that I'm not guilty? I'm dating your daughter, you're supposed to accuse me of homicide - not try and save me from it."

"Can you stop questioning my motives, son? Because it's not helping your case any."

They were both silent once more. Carlisle pushed himself away from the brick wall precariously, pacing the length of his small cell without reason. It went this way for a while, Charlie just watched him sadly.

"My family, Charlie; I want to see them."

He, again, rose his eyebrows in surprise. "I suppose that includes my daughter, then?"

Carlisle's pacing finally stopped, and he turned towards his soon-to-be father-in-law. "Of course," He gave him a gentle smile. "she is part of my family" He paused for a second, thinking "- as are you."

"Then your wish is my command."

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