The drive back home was as fast as the one there.

"Edward," Bella said, swallowing, feeling greener by the minute. "Please. Slow. Down."

He did, minutely.

She closed her eyes, trying to breathe through the nausea.

"I want Carlisle to look at you," he said, without preamble, as they parked in the garage.

"To make sure I'm feeling fine? Because you don't believe me?" She was frowning at him, annoyed at his rushing home, more annoyed that he was fretting needlessly.

He moved at his full speed, making her jump as he stood in front of her, cold hands pressed to her flushed cheeks. "Please," he whispered. "For me?"

As if she could say no, his breath washing over her, lips brushing up her neck.

"Do I get more of this after?" she asked, eyebrows taking a lazy ride up her forehead.

"Absolutely," he whispered, "I just want to make sure you're OK."

The last part held only tenuously to the truth, but he was desperate to have Carlisle examine her.

Back from his shift at the hospital, Carlisle had heard them come in, and Edward's request, and began pulling out the things he would need. When Edward knocked at his study door, Bella's hand locked in his, Carlisle welcomed them with a smile.

"Shall I shoo your husband away?" he asked, good naturedly, eyeing Edward, who looked on, the worry all over his face.

"It's OK," she said, "I think this is just confirming good news." Her comfort could not have contrasted more with Edward's mute distress.

"Please be thorough," Edward said.

"Alright," Carlisle nodded, and pulled out his blood pressure cuff.

He meandered through his regular checks, not having gotten to her ribs yet.

"Can you check her iron?" Edward asked, and then, knowing she very likely wouldn't understand the significance of it, "and her HCG levels too?"

To his credit, Carlisle didn't so much as blink irregularly.

"Sounds prudent," he murmured. "Perhaps everyone can step out while I do that."

The family members who were home, were only glad to. They'd been hunting regularly, but it was better to be safe than risk anything.

"I can run the blood," Edward said, holding out his hand for the vial.

"Certainly," Carlisle answered him, their gaze held a little too long.

Busied with the machines that bordered the window counter, Edward set to work running the sample, an uncertain lump sitting in his stomach.

"Those are completely healed," Carlisle said, after palpating her ribs. Wrinkling his forehead a little, he asked Bella to push up her sleeve. The cut on her forearm had become a bright red line, sutures still there, but well buried in healed flesh. When she pulled up the fabric of her jeans, the same sight greeted him there. He'd checked her just a few days ago, the wounds then only just scabbed shut.

"Well," he said, straining for a sense of calm, flicking his gaze to Edward's hunched back, "your stitches are ready to come out, if that's alright?"

"Sure," Bella shrugged. She was better. Awesome. She just wished Edward wasn't freaking out about it.

Then an unhappy thought sunk its claws into her chest.

What if—No, she tried to tell herself, but that other voice, the insidious one that wouldn't be silenced, whispered silently, he would've heard all of Jacob's thoughts. Seen them.

Perhaps her injuries had been convenient. A barrier to intimacy.

No, she told herself. He'd accepted her before. He couldn't possibly—but you didn't ask Jacob to make love to you, before, the voice hissed. And then tell your husband about it.

She swallowed, feeling inexplicably numb.

"You feeling OK, Bella?" Carlisle asked, alarmed by the sudden paling of her skin.

"Yes, just...not a fan of stitches coming or going." She smiled weakly.

"It won't hurt," he said. "I'll be as quick as I can." He patted her arn, more to reassure himself, than her.

Bella was asking herself questions. Ugly ones.

Her stomach twisted painfully, and she started as Carlisle pulled the first stitch.

"Did that hurt?"

"No," she said, tears beginning abruptly.

Carlisle stopped, a gentle hand on hers.

"Edward," she said, "could you come here?"

Edward was stock still, eyes locked over the microscope, lost to what he'd seen.

"Edward," Carlisle said, reaching out, touching his arm.

"Sorry," he murmured, coming and sitting by her, taking her hand, sliding his other around her. "What's up?"

She shook her head. "Just…" and searching for something plausible, said, "memories—stitches," she mumbled, shaking her head, flinching internally at the lie.

"Of course, I'm sorry. I didn't think," Carlisle murmured. "Are you alright to continue?"

"I am," she said, squeezing Edward's hand. He didn't return the pressure, staring blankly ahead.

The minute sounds of Carlisle's work were all that filled the space. That, and Bella's breathing, which sounded loud to her. Too fast.

Edward's hand remained in hers, cold and lifeless. When she pressed her fingers around his, he didn't reciprocate.

As Carlisle finished, setting aside his tools with a small clatter, Bella looked at Edward, too afraid to ask what was wrong.

"Did you finish?" Carlisle asked his son instead.

"Yes," he said. "Iron levels are fine."

Finding her voice, Bella asked, "and the other test? For HC—?"

"HCG," Carlisle said, "Human chorionic gonadotropin."

"What's that for?"

"It's just a hormone in the blood," Carlisle said. "Good to know its level."

"Why would you need to know it?" Her worry shifted, sensing his evasion, giving her some hope. Maybe this was what Edward was worried about?

Neither of them answered her, Carlisle looking at Edward, still statue-like beside her.

"What?" she asked, more insistently to both of them. "Why aren't you saying anything?"

Finally, Edward turned his head to show her his eyes. They were dark with the beginnings of hunger, and blacker with something else. Something she couldn't name.

"You're pregnant, Bella," he said, "the test tells us how far along."