He'd gone to hunt, only leaving because of press of necessity, worn in his black eyes. They were several reassuring shades lighter when he returned after a few hours. Bella didn't question the shortness of his time away, having watched his worry blossom with the many uncertainties her condition—or transformation, or whatever it was, presented.
She had far more confidence than Edward did, that all would be well. His life, so many times that of her short one, had taught him that the balance of probabilities was even, for good, or bad. Fate had favoured few. Whatever was happening to Bella was a pernicious mystery, and one he wanted solved for the better.
"You barely hunted," Bella said, seeing him.
"More than enough," he assured her, leaning down and kissing her chastely.
The small crinkle by his eyes told her all she needed to know about why he'd come back early.
"I'm fine. As promised."
His "Mmm," was thoroughly uncommitted to this notion.
"Want me to try some cartwheels to prove it?" She winked at him.
The words made his tilted smile appear. "I have my doubts about such activities aiding the cause of your well being."
"Shocking notion."
Another kiss grew out of their mutual chuckle.
Then she put her hand to her side, a silent 'O' on her lips, the air shoved away.
When worried for her, Edward's face became a set of sharp corners, furrowed inwards as he watched her breathe through the discomfort.
"How can I help?" he whispered.
She said nothing.
"Bella, how?"
She shook her head, still not able to talk, one hand on her stomach, the other leaning on him.
"What?" he asked, "I didn't hear you."
She finally let her breath out. "Didn't say anything," she managed on a whisper of air, pulling more in.
All the corners in his face were flexing, moving in confusion. "Say something else," he murmured.
"What?" she asked, her turn to be confused.
Then he laughed, his features suddenly soft. Open. He gasped. "Say something else."
"Something." She looked at him, now worried herself.
He picked her up, carrying her back to the couch where she'd been sitting, setting both his hands on either side of her abdomen. "I can hear...them." He laughed again, in delight, this faltering as Bella winced. "No, no," he said quickly, gently. "You're hurting her."
The movement stilled.
"You can hear...our baby?" Her voice was low with awe.
He nodded, watching her carefully. "And...they—he, she, can hear me. Understand me."
Bella's intake of breath was almost silent.
The others around the house had paused in their activities, minds wavering with wonder.
"They're…" the smile widened. "He or she is like you, Bella. His face widened with joy. Just...beautiful."
Bella's own face was transformed. She wanted to cry with relief, but she held it back, just, knowing how beautifully fragile this moment was.
She squeezed Edward's hand instead, their fingers jointly touching the swelling of her body.
Then he leaned forward, and kissed her in a way that left no question as to what he felt for her.
It made all her other desires, forced into dormancy by his worry, wake up. And demand attention.
He could smell it on her.
"I'm sorry," he said again, "I've left you alone in this."
"Don't," she whispered into his kiss. He was picking her up, carrying her to their bedroom. "I love you. You're here now."
Inside, she didn't wait for him to set her down again, before sliding off her shirt, and then begin working on his.
He had no such patience, and there was a soft shredding, as the fabric slipped from their bodies.
She couldn't lie on her back anymore. It left her feeling nauseated and breathless, so they configured themselves as the split ends of scissor blades, joint in purpose at the hinge, moving together in a motion as old as time.
Her body, in all its changes, was a constantly new set of discoveries, and this experience was no less for her, or for him.
He could feel the new strength in her skin, its temperature closer to his now.
She knew the sweetness of their bodies joined in an approaching equality of strength, her hands able to depress his flesh in her grip.
When he had ensured her pleasure, he felt the ripple of his own, and she groaned into his not so careful grip, luxuriating in its intensity.
So accustomed to worry, he couldn't help himself. "Are you OK?"
She answered with a snorted laugh. "Amazing," she said, kissing him, and bringing herself up to straddle his midsection.
"Oh no," he said, seeing what she was trying to do. "You've—"
"Been missing my husband," she breathed into his ear, gripping him intimately.
He sat part-way up, arms holding her back. "Then let me fix that."
And he did.
Later, when his natural worry had slithered its way back into his mind, he caught Carlisle looking at him, a tiny smirk fluttering on and then off his face, along with a coy thought: the best way to spur babies out, is the way you put them in.
Edward grinned in reply, returning his attention to Bella, who was tackling dinner.
Tackling was the right word.
Emmett joked that the cow was still kicking on her plate, most nights. Esme was her preferred cook, and by cook, Bella meant that the steak be gently tickled by a flame before being served.
While Carlisle's machines had become useless, the tests of his eyes and hands remained certain. Her humanity endured enough, that he was sure the birth would be human, natural, and soon.
What would happen after, they didn't know.
What the baby would be, was equally large a question.
"Do you think, that I'll keep changing—after?" She'd asked Carlisle.
He'd sighed. "We don't know, but I suspect—and this really is just speculation, that the only reason the change is slow, is because it needs to be, for the baby. A natural protective measure. To keep you and it safe, and to still allow for birth."
But after? That made them all squirm in uncertainty.
Bella was curious, but refused to worry about it.
"Had enough of that," she said, "I just want our baby safe, and us. We'll figure out anything else. Together."
For now, they sat thus, waiting, and watching in wonder at the little life squirming inside, its wordless thoughts joyful, for what tomorrow would bring.
DISCLAIMER: S. Meyer owns Twilight. No copyright infringement intended.
