"Alice," Charlie said, in a kind voice wearied with impatience, "please stop fussing."

"Fussing?" she asked, perfect eyebrows arched.

"Fussing," he mumbled, lifting his chin towards the small table she'd brought over to the couch, complete with a glass of water and a plate of neatly sliced fruit.

"You expect me to leave you hungry? Hours before the nurse comes over to check on you?"

"I can walk, Alice."

She snorted in response.

"Your confidence is inspiring."

He took a sip of the water.

"How's Bella?"

"Better," she said, "still not well enough to visit, though."

He grunted.

"Really," Alice said, "she's not, and she doesn't want you to be...affected by it."

Charlie didn't say anything for a bit, but then mumbled, "doesn't seem to bother you."

It was Alice's turn to pause, "no," she said quietly, "it doesn't."

"I miss her, Alice." He didn't bother keeping the emotion from his voice. He was tired. Coming home had exhausted him, even though all he'd had to do was walk the short distance inside.

"Trust me, Charlie, it's purely for your benefit that she's not here."

He put his teeth together in a tight, and frustrated clench. "Is that really it? Or is it something...weird?"

Alice's face betrayed nothing. "I'll have her call you when I get back, OK?"

He huffed out a resigned breath. "Fine."

Then Alice stopped moving for a moment. "Seems you have a visitor." Her nose wrinkled.

Charlie listened, but heard nothing for a bit, and then picked up the still distant rumble of an engine. It grew close, and then chugged to a stop in his driveway.

He looked uneasily at Alice. "You staying?"

Her mouth twisted. "Do you want me to?"

"Yes," he growled out, almost petulantly.

"OK." Again, her face showed nothing.

It was most ungratifying.

Leah's face was much more so.

Her nose was so crinkled it looked like a misplaced prune.

"Some company you keep, Charlie," she muttered, eyeing Alice's cross-armed form, casually leaning against the mantel.

Alice only nodded politely.

Leah pushed Billy into the living room.

"Hey old man," he said to Charlie.

"Speak for yourself. Young and spry here."

"Sue sent some food." He put a paper bag on the table with a clunk.

"That was nice of her."

Billy grunted. "Better than anything I make."

They both chuckled. Billy was a terrible cook. Marginally worse than Charlie.

"Please say thank you for me, Leah."

"Sure," she drawled. "But seeing as you're the grandpa, I'd say you win the older competition."

Billy paled, and Alice's eyes went wide for a fraction of section.

It was all enough for Charlie to see.

"What did you say?" he asked Leah.

"Grand-pa," she said, enunciating the syllables carefully. Bitterly.

Charlie turned to look at Alice.

She raised an inquiring eyebrow at Leah, face straight.

Billy was not so well disciplined. His palor had disappeared into a stinging red. "Time to go, Leah."

"We just got here, Billy."

"No shit. Let's go."

"What do you mean, 'grandpa'?" Charlie asked again, shifting in his seat, moving to stand.

Alice moved closer, a very solid and cold hand on his shoulder. "Just sit." Her voice was dangerously soft. "Think you need to explain that comment, Leah."

"Don't need to do anything for you or your kind—"

"Shut it, Leah," Billy warned her.

"Or what?" she spat, "we'll make nice with the leeches?"

"Quiet!" he barked. "Do I need to get it ordered?" His face was a mottled purpley red.

"Will someone please tell me what's going on?" Charlie barked.

"See you, Charlie, sorry," Billy muttered, turning his chair, jerking his head towards the door. Leah rolled her eyes in answer, pushing him outside again.

"Can you get me to the car, please," Charlie growled out to Alice.

"Charlie," she said in a too smooth voice, "you just got home, you're supposed to—"

"Get me to the car, Alice. Please."

"You—"

"I'll drive myself. He stood with a pained grunt, clutching at the wall, shuffling along.

"Fine," Alice muttered. Then she slipped her arm under his and helped him outside.

If he didn't know better, he'd have thought he'd been half carried there.

"I just need to make a quick phone call, OK?"

"Quick," he muttered, uncomfortable in the passenger seat.

Alice seemed to whisper into her phone, a short distance from the car, and when she was done, lowered herself elegantly into the driver's seat.

"Where to, Charlie?"

"Bella."

"Right," she sighed. "Let's go."

- 0 -

"You will be fine, Bella," Edward whispered to her, watching Bella blink over the strange sensation of the contact lenses. "I know it."

She wasn't capable of tears anymore, but there was a choked sob born somewhere in her throat. "This is my Dad, Edward. What if—"

"You were fine in the woods on your first day, Bella, and it's been a month now. You haven't so much as blinked at the human scents that have come this way."

"But what if he's...like I was, what if—"

"The world explodes and we all die?" Emmett supplied.

"Very helpful," Edward growled.

"You'll be fine, Bella," Emmett said more kindly. "And if you're not, all of us will defend Charlie. Trust me."

"He'll be here in a few minutes," Edward murmured, "why don't we just work on keeping you calm until then?"

She nodded, reluctantly, motioning to Rose for Claire.

"Hey," she whispered to her, letting the little fingers fall on her own face. "I am nervous. I'm afraid I'll hurt your grandpa."

Claire was the size of a sturdy three month old, but a very coordinated one. A very intelligent one, too.

"How're we going to explain her?" Bella asked.

This was not so easy to answer.

"We'll tell him what Carlisle told Seth."

Bella stared at Edward.

"It isn't meant to convince him, Bella, but he needs to know the public story, more than anything."

She took a breath in, and then let it out, all the flavours of the room unique, and familiar. A smaller part of her mind insisted this action should calm her, but it accomplished nothing in this direction.

Then an unnatural feeling descended, and she was calm, even though she didn't own the sensation.

"Not sure that'll work, Jasper, but thank you."

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"Yes," she sighed, relieved when her own feelings reasserted themselves.

Bella took the next few minutes to answer Claire's silent questions about Charlie, and more importantly, to explain that she shouldn't show Charlie things.

"It just isn't expected," she said quietly, lost in this little conversation. "Babies are quiet. They don't do much….no, I know you're not like that. It's just for a short time."

Edward chuckled. It still delighted him that they reasoned with their daughter.

The irregular crunch of gravel under tires made them look up. The human scent was not long in breathing its way into the room, either.

Claire turned her head to Bella, and told her it smelled good.

"You can't bite him, either. Definitely not."

Claire repeated the sight of Bella's alarmed face back to her.

"I love him. He's very breakable. We need to be very, very careful with him."

Claire nodded.

"Can you pretend to be just a normal, boring baby for a bit?"

More nodding.

"Go sit," Edward said to her, "it'll make it easier for you to move more...humanly."

Alice helped Charlie to the door, and Bella watched impatiently, and with concern. "He shouldn't be up and around," she hissed at Edward.

Edward was getting a better picture of why he was, and sighed. "Leah," he muttered.

When Bella went to stand, he whispered, "sit," to her again sub-audibly, "you're supposed to be recovering, remember?"

She tucked her teeth into her lip, watching Charlie's slow progress into the room. He hadn't really looked up yet, white with the effort of moving.

Carlisle had appeared at this point, drawn by the unhealthy sounds he could hear coming from Charlie.

"Hi Charlie," he murmured softly. "Do me a favour and sit down."

"I'm fine. And so are you," he said to Bella.

"Hi, Dad."

Then Charlie looked at her, and his eyes narrowed, and he shook his head. Claire turned her head, and now his eyes widened at the doll-like replica of his own daughter, "what the hell?" he whispered.

Carlisle opened his mouth to say something, but Charlie held up a hand, not taking his eyes off of Bella and Claire.

"She looks exactly like you did."

Bella said nothing, keeping her glance from flicking towards Edward and back.

"And you're not sick."

Bella shook her head. She didn't want to waste the air she'd sucked in before he entered the room.

"What's going on?"

No one spoke for a moment, and then Edward said, "remember what I told you, Charlie?"

Charlie's mouth twisted in frustration. "You've told me a lot of things, Edward. Many of them not true."

Edward arched an eyebrow in acknowledgement. "Some questions are best not asked." Then he picked up Claire from Bella, reassuring his wife with his eyes. "This is Claire. And yes, you are a grandfather. We're adopting her. She has some very...special needs."

"No more lies."

Edward paused, midway across the room. "Your eyes have told you the truth, Charlie, but you need to have something to tell the world, which doesn't see so clearly."

This seemed to mollify Charlie, and he nodded, opening his own arms to hold the child Edward presented.

"Hi," he said, his voice suddenly soft, as one would make it for an infant.

Then she waved at him, and he blinked.

"Special?"

"Very special," Edward repeated.

Charlie held Claire for a bit, who did her part and behaved as much like a baby as she knew to do. Then Charlie looked up at Bella. "Cat got your tongue?"

Edward glanced at Bella, assessing her movements, trying to understand how she was faring.

Jasper was in the next room with the rest of the Cullens, ready, in case of any need. His thoughts told Edward Bella was doing well, but that she was strained and fearful.

"We won't let you hurt him," Edward whispered to her. "Talk to him, it's alright."

"I'm still...getting used to...this," she said, spreading her fingers out, waving at her form.

Charlie nodded slowly, his jaw working. "You OK?" he husked out.

"Never better."

"Missed you," Charlie said.

"You too, Dad." She looked like she wanted to cry.

Then Claire put her hand up, moving to Charlie's cheek.

Edward's eyes widened with concern.

And Charlie's widened with shock.

"What?"

"She's...reassuring you," Edward said, seeing what Claire was showing him.

Charlie stared at the baby-shaped person in his arms, stunned to wordlessness.

Carlisle knocked at this point, his many thoughts full of worry for Charlie's physical well being.

"I agree," Edward said, "you need to rest, Charlie. This is...a lot."

His father-in-law could only nod. He didn't even think to ask how Edward knew what Carlisle's intentions were.

Right before he passed out.

Bella caught Claire with one arm, her other hand flying to her father's head. "Dad?"

"He's OK," Carlisle said, "just tired. He needs to be in bed."

"Are you sure?"

Carlisle was nodding, listening, moving Charlie's feet up onto the sofa arm, laying him down flat, checking the bandages on his midsection and arms. "I'm going to take him home. Alice?" He was pulling syringes out from his bag, administering one of them. "Just a very mild sedative to calm him down," he explained to Bella.

"He's going to have so many questions, Carlisle—"

"I'll stay with him."

"It's too much, though," she almost cried out, "he—"

"He's still recovering Bella," Edward said, slipping his arm around her. "He did well. He understands the need to keep this quiet."

"But—"

"And you did incredibly well."

She nodded, her head still full of fear and concern.

"Think about what this means, love," he whispered, as she watched Carlisle pick Charlie up.

She was still so anxious for him, she could only look at her husband with the wrinkles of it all over her forehead.

"We can stay, for a little while. Be with Charlie. You get to keep your dad." His own voice was soft with emotion. "Claire gets a human grandpa."

The smile that broke out on her face was beautiful for all its lingering disbelief.

It was suddenly too much, the sucking maelstrom of feeling yanking at her.

"Rose," Edward called, taking Claire, handing her to his sister. Then his arms were all for Bella, and they were flying, the scrim of trees a blur in their run.

"I can't," she finally breathed, stopping in the shade of an ancient fir, hands shaking at an inhuman frequency.

The panic was clawing at her, and she was trying to breathe through it, the air only adding more stimulus.

"No!" she shrieked when he went to touch her. The small push made him fly through the alders behind him, chips and dust exploding everywhere.

"Oh God, Edward, I'm sorry!" Her distress was only growing.

"I'm fine," he said, moving slowly back towards her. "Breathing isn't going to help, love." He held out his hand, an invitation to touch.

She hadn't had one of these attacks, not in her new self yet.

"I'm here, nothing is going to hurt you. I doubt very much anything can hurt you," he added more lightly.

She laughed a little in the midst of her panic, the feeling lessening.

Edward's hand remained open, and she tentatively put her own in it. He pulled her to him, their hands mutually at each other's backs, cheeks pressed together.

He let his fingers work in small circles, feeling the vibrations in her form subside.

"Sorry," she whispered.

"Don't be," he murmured, "you've been through so much, and you're doing so well."

"It helps," she said, their faces side by side, "that the memories are fading."

He nodded, the friction of their cheeks pleasant.

Then their lips were exploring that togetherness.

He risked putting his hands to the softness of her hair. She slid hers to his hips, pulling him closer.

"I can tell," he chuckled.

Then they were horizontal, Edward resting between her and the ground.

"This feels...amazing, and—"

"Just stop at amazing," Edward mumbled, reversing their positions.

Her hands were busy flicking open buttons and zippers. Her marvelled that she had the patience for such intricacies, where he was ready to shred their clothes away.

He made himself wait, slipping his lips down her form to worship it in all its perfect mounds and undulations.

The sound she made when he reached the mid-point of her body pleased him almost as much as her touch.

It was brief, though, capped by a soft, "no, I want you in me."

He demonstrated how well he could, and not in the way he knew she wanted.

The purring groan that slipped out of her throat made him grin too widely for what he was doing.

Her hands were insistent, though, and he returned his mouth to hers, growling at the bite of her teeth on his lip.

"I want you," she repeated, and he obliged her, still so delighted to not have to spare his movements with her sturdy flesh.

There was still some reticence, though, and she pressed with her fingers, "don't hold back," she hushed. "I want you."

This was a joining that dug into the earth, a divet that they made with her curled back, hands entrenched in his, ankles flexed around his thighs.

"Better?" he asked her, as they stood, lingering in the after effects of this muddy pleasure.

"Amazing," she smiled, shyly.

There was no hurry in their walk home, marked by several pleasurable divergences into similar activities, but a slowly growing appreciation of the surprising happiness they found themselves holding together.

- 0 -

Carlisle didn't press with hard questions or answers when Charlie woke, calmly seeing to the necessities of this still frail human body.

When Charlie did, though, Carlisle had simple answers.

"The fewer questions you ask, Charlie, the safer we'll all be."

"I think I deserve some answers, Carlisle."

He was blunt. "You can have answers, and all our deaths, or you can accept what you see."

Charlie's eyes were unaffected by his illness. He knew there was no poker face on Carlisle.

"We can leave now, Charlie, if this is too hard."

"No," he said quickly, afraid they might if he didn't.

"It's too dangerous for you to know more."

"No more lies, then. I won't ask, but just...don't lie."

"Alright." Carlisle's voice was solemn.

"And you tell me if you need to leave. I don't want to wake up and find you gone."

"Of course."

Charlie stuck out his hand, and Carlisle returned it.

"Deal."