This is the outtake that was mentioned after chapter 17. Many of you read it when you reviewed at that time, but we're posting it now for those who missed it. And because we're suffering a bit of BAT withdrawal.

Carlislie & Esme - Southampton

Saturday, February 22 - Carlisle

"Carlisle?"

Esme had entered my home office so quietly I didn't notice she was there. I put the papers I was working on back in a file, and she sat down across from me. She crossed her legs, and put her hands on her knee. Then she looked at me and smiled. After all these years, that smile still brought me joy every single day. I made it a point in our years never to be without it for long.

"What can I do for you?" I asked.

"I just got off the phone with Edward." She started running her hands up and down her leg nervously.

"And?"

"Apparently, there are some pictures of him and his new girlfriend. He's gained the attention of the paparazzi again."

"Why am I not surprised?" I clutched the pen I was holding a little tighter.

"I know. But he is asking to bring her here tomorrow so we can meet her."

I looked at her and raised an eyebrow. "That's . . . interesting."

"I think he really cares for her."

"What do we know about her?" Edward's history with women did not lend itself to believing Esme's statement.

"Honestly, nothing."

"Do we have a name?"

"No, but he indicated she wasn't from around here, and perhaps not exactly like us." She was trying to politely indicate social class. I sighed. Not again.

"You think she's in it for something?"

"I hope not, Carlisle, but you haven't been around Edward much since he's been back. He seems so . . . different. I see such a sadness in his eyes, and he hasn't been dating. It would be easy for someone to take advantage of him right now." She had been fretting over him for some time. His exile had been self imposed, but I did not offer him fanfare in his return. He needed to earn my respect once again. He had not handled the events that led to his leaving like the man I thought him capable of being. He ran. He was still running.

Esme and I snuck out to Southampton late on Saturday so Edward and his girlfriend could meet us there. It was safer on many levels, but I did not like being forced to leave the city on his behalf.

On Sunday morning I sat in my library looking over her background check. I only had time for the criminal report. The one benefit to the tabloids was that they dug up her name before I did. She was a law abiding citizen at least. Given that her father was a police officer, I hoped she wouldn't be up to anything illegal, but one always had to be careful with motivations in situations like this.

I didn't know what to think about Edward anymore. I loved my son, but he made such extremely bad decisions. His constant poor judgment got under my skin, more than with anyone I'd ever known. My wife claims I see too much of myself in him. I don't know.

He always had so much potential. He was incredibly bright. People adored him. It wasn't to say Emmett wasn't a smart boy. It's just that Edward always struck me as . . . exceptional. He excelled in everything he did; Things just seemed to come naturally to him. But he never thought ahead when it came to his personal life. And somewhere along the line, it seemed his whole purpose in life was to spite me.

I found myself increasingly frustrated with his behaviors. As he got older, I needed to distance myself from him a bit for fear that I would lose my temper. Little things he did would have me on edge. He could be such a leader, but he tended to go along with the pack. Tell him to jump into a frozen lake, and I swear he'd find the deepest spot on the coldest day. He had to know better. All those hours we spent reading together. He was so perceptive, intuitive. I couldn't figure out why that hadn't translated to his own actions.

My father had been such a bastard. He yelled at my mother and me constantly. He fostered extraordinarily high expectations for me. It was literally impossible to meet his demands. But I never stopped trying. Any small misstep would mean a verbal lashing. And occasionally, a physical one. I wouldn't call them beatings; He pushed me against a wall or backhanded my face on occasion.

I vowed to do better with my own children. I would never lay a hand on them, and I would make an effort not to raise my voice. It was hard to avoid the high expectations when your children are so gifted though. And over time, it seemed unlike me, Edward did stop trying. So I avoided conflict with him for years, preferring to keep my expectations and my disappointments quiet. I convinced myself it had to be better to avoid than to actively engage him. Eventually, it meant that we spoke very little. If I couldn't talk to him without getting angry, I decided not talking at all was for the better. I still wanted to believe I made the right decision.

But I missed my son. I looked around the library, and so many memories lived between these walls. I remembered mornings when I could hear him playing piano, and I would just look out over the beach. It always calmed me. These days, I often sat here on weekends wondering if he'd read anything good lately.

Emmett and Esme were constantly telling me he'd changed, and I wanted to believe it. I was pleased he'd come home, come back to the company, but I was still trying to figure out his motivations.

Even as I sat facing him and his girlfriend, I couldn't help but wonder what his angle was. She was different. I'd give him that. Her appearance was inviting. Her conversation engaging. But I worried she was a pawn, a way for him to goad me once again.

I was hard on him, but I needed to test these waters. For the girl's sake as well as the family's.

But it hadn't escaped me. She was an editor. They went to the library first. My library. I wondered if his best memories of me were lounging on the couch waiting for him.

Sunday, February 23 - Esme

Pretty faces.

Pedigrees.

Shallow.

We had seen it all.

With Emmett and especially with Edward.

Carlisle liked to joke that I set an unrealistic expectation for my boys. That a woman could be smart and beautiful. He was always teasing me that no one would ever live up to 'mommy' where my boys were concerned.

When they were little, it was funny.

When they were in junior high, it had been a running joke.

And then the joking stopped.

Emmett met Rosalie in college. He told me that 'Dad was right.'

It had been almost ten years since Emmett brought Rosalie home. They fell madly in love, got married, and had a beautiful daughter.

I held out hopes that Edward would find the same thing. Yet he seemed to flail further and further out of control. Pretty faces with no mind. The type of girl that was only around for one thing.

We bit our tongues at the parade of women. Through the publicity. It broke my heart to see him leave for Los Angeles the way he did. I don't know who I hurt more for; my son or my husband. In some ways, there were so different. In other ways, they were the same.

Both so brilliant. Both so proud. Both so stubborn.

And five years later, here I am. Sitting at my dining room table, trying to make sense of the afternoon. Another in a long parade of girls. But this one, well…

When Edward had called to explain what was going on, I picked up on the difference in his tone, in his words. I am his mother. It's what I do.

But to watch him with this girl, who was so incredibly unlike anyone he had every brought home gave me pause. She was pretty, yet not stunning like the women in his past. She was smart. She had a dry sense of humor. And fire. She would give Rosalie a run for her money.

And then there was Edward. I would never call him selfish, but he had never gone out of his way to be overly aware of others. Yet with this girl, his body language was night and day. He never let go of her hand. The other women he had brought here had not been touched in front of us. I know very well what he did out of our sight, although he would deny it. But this girl…

Any hesitation, any doubts I had were shattered when I heard him playing for her. I stood in the doorway to the music room, watching them. He looked at peace, relaxed. A smile on his face that I hadn't seen in years.

She looked rapt. Her expression one of awe. It wasn't because of the surroundings, the trappings of wealth. It was because of my beautiful, brilliant son.

She could see the good in him. The potential.

Please God let her be real. Let her be worthy of his love. He was in love with her. That much was apparent. We both saw it. It gave me hope. I could tell that Carlisle was worried. It was apparent in the way that he quizzed her. He may have ridiculously high expectations for Edward, but he tried to protect him more than any other.

I heard Carlisle come into the dining room. James followed with a fresh glass of scotch. He looked tired. I wondered if something happened in the library with Edward. But I knew Carlisle well enough to let him tell me what it was in his own time.

"Well? What is the assessment?"

I took a long breath, collecting my thoughts.

"He looks at her the way you look at me." He winced a bit at my comment. It was the opposite of a conversation we had six years ago when I questioned how Edward felt about Tanya.

"Is this real? This isn't another one of his dalliances?"

"Carlisle, didn't you see the way he tried to protect her? He let her stand her ground, but he was there, ready to step in the minute she stumbled. He had faith that she could handle us, but was ready to save her if she needed it."

He took a long drink of his scotch. "Did you find her job ironic?"

I smiled. I knew all three of my boys so well.

"Why else do you think I mentioned the Bronte?" I paused, watching his face, "She reminds me a lot of you. She might not appear like much at first, but I wouldn't cross her. She put up a pretty valiant stand when I pushed her. I think she loves him."

Carlisle hesitated for a long moment. "That is all well and good, but does he love her? I can't stand the thought of an innocent girl getting ripped apart."

There was only one way to make him understand. To make him appreciate the sincerity of our son's intentions.

"He played for her." The look of shock on Carlisle's face was exactly what I had expected.

"What did he play?"

I simply nodded. It was all he needed.

I could see the tears building. It might have been years since Edward had played it, but there was no irony lost in that the song he had played for Bella was his father's favorite.

"Even better than that, Carlisle. Do you know what she asked me when I offered her a glass of wine?"

He inclined his head in curiosity. After all these years, we didn't need speech. Simple gestures would do.

"She asked if it was Hemlock."

The laughter that rang through the house was wonderful. Even better that it was because of Edward and his girlfriend.

"I thought your father was going to throw me out of the house when I said that to him," Carlisle mused.

"I think this is the one." I watched his face, waiting for a reaction.

* A few quick notes:
- the song Edward played: Where Sheep May Safely Graze by Bach.
- the reference to Hemlock is historical. After Sparta conquered Athens, Socrates was considered too knowledgeable, too wise, and therefore was considered a threat. He was sentenced to death by drinking Hemlock.