*****

FIVE YEARS LATER

"Bella, you're going to be late," Emily says this to me in the low voice she usually reserves for her oldest daughter whose behavior, at twelve, has taken to alternating between a toddler's and a middle aged divorcee's. It is the ultimate mother voice.

"How do you do that?" I grin up at her as I begin to stand, my daughter holding on to my hands but turning to look at Emily over her shoulder. "How in the world do you manage to make me feel so guilty when I haven't even done what you're worried about yet?"

"It's an art," she grins back. "You'll perfect it somewhere between the first day of school and why-can't-I-go-to-the-dance." We laugh together, shaking our heads.

"I don't want to go to school," Sarah says, interrupting. Her long black hair is back in two braids, her wide mouth—her father's mouth—pulled down at the corners in a professional pout. Her frown looks especially heavy on the small point of her chin. Emily laughs again, loudly.

"Nevermind. Looks like you'll be starting a year early." I shoot her a wistful smile while I get down on my knees to face my daughter again, cupping her round brown cheeks in my hands. They look so pale on her skin; it makes me think of her father, and I sigh, knowing I'm definitely going to be late.

"Sarah," I begin. "School doesn't start for another year, and I am not going to talk to you about it yet. Don't let the other kids get you riled up." She looks like she might start to cry. We've never been apart for more than an hour or so, and the impending separation—all of four days—must seem like forever to her. I sigh again. "What are you going to do when I leave?"

"I don't know," she whimpers, and I give her a big, fat, fake smile with my eyebrows up.

"Yes you do…" She stares back at me. Damn that stubbornness. "You're going to have dinner in the restaurant with your uncles and aunts and cousins, and then you're going to play Chutes and Ladders with Uncle Quil, and when you get up tomorrow you're going fishing with your grandpas." In spite of herself, she is smiling back at me by the end. She starts to twirl back and forth a little bit, not quite ready to admit she is happy about any of this yet. "And Auntie Alice and Emily are going to take you shopping the day after that, and then you get to see Aunt Leah when she comes home from Australia on Friday—"

"—and Uncle Edward," she finishes, grinning widely now. She pronounces uncle as un-coo. I rub noses with her while she giggles and then turn her loose. She runs towards Emily and bounces on her toes, reaching up. "Let's go!" Emily salutes her and spins around; when Sarah follows she shoots me a look over her shoulder that says run while you can. I pick up my tiny bag from beside the front door and sneak quietly out, demanding a kiss from my son as he zooms across the yard barely ahead of a pair of small, cavorting wolves giving wild chase.

"I love you Mommy," he pants, and then automatically resumes the game of tag. I find I have to make myself actually walk to the car, picking one leg up and putting it down a little further away. The engine is obnoxiously quiet; I've never adjusted to any other vehicle besides the truck, in spite of my husband's enthusiastic recommendations and creative tinkering. He jokes that I'm the only woman on the planet who prefers her car be tuned to run louder, rather than the other way around. He and Edward always get a good laugh out of it. Emmett usually cuts in at the end of that to say that I've always had bad taste, anyway, and then it's a free for all—I am going to be late. Particularly if I keep letting my mind wander.

Port Angeles's lovely little Italian place has not changed since the first time I ate there, more than a decade ago. In the years since I returned to Forks, the menu hasn't been updated once, and whenever the mess of our family decides to converge on it—much to the amusement and concern of the management, who then reverentially nod to Emily (quite famous now in restaurant circles)—we always order the same things. The last time we were here, as a celebratory welcome home dinner for Edward and Leah after last year's big mission in Tibet, one of the managers confidentially whispered to Sam that they always have extra mushroom ravioli on hand, just in case we stop by.

I definitely need to keep my mind on the road. Seth is probably on duty tonight, and he'll have way too much fun writing me up for speeding.

"I was beginning to think you'd gone over to Billy's side," my husband smirks down at me as he peels himself away from the wall outside of the restaurant. Jacob's brilliant smile eclipses the sun as it drops below the horizon behind him, his hands reaching out for me. I hurry into his arms without stopping to think about it, and we kiss on the sidewalk like teenagers. I'm in love with the way you touch me, I think for millionth time, as I feel his fingers tease through my hair, a hot pinky brushing my earlobe and throat. I'm suddenly disappointed that we decided to go to dinner before we leave for our honeymoon, five years in the making.

"I've never taken a side," I murmur into his broad chest. He pulls away and leads me in, his hand warming my body electrically as he tows me along. The staff nods at us and smiles, the owner himself leading us to a private table along the glass back wall, facing the setting sun. Warm light sweeps over Jake's ageless face, permanently in the prime of his life, joy transforming his handsome features from their usual weariness. He steals the words from my mind before I can say them.

"Only you could outshine this sunset," he whispers. He hasn't let go of my hand, reaching with ease across the table between us. I reach for him with my other one involuntarily and he grasps it. We gaze at each other.

We haven't been alone, during the day, in a very, very long time.

"Do you want to celebrate this one? Or should we call the whole thing off and do this next year?" He continues the opening line of conversation, still smiling. I take the bait.

"Why can't we celebrate them both?"

"Well, because they're months apart," he grins, and we both laugh at our fathers' collective absurdity, the silliness of living. Billy Black has always insisted that we've been married since the conception of our children, less than a week after my return to Forks, using the same ceremonial qualifiers Jacob shyly seduced me with. Charlie remained adamant that we have a slightly more public ceremony on First Beach, complete with legal documentation. Their disagreement has never failed to amuse Jacob and I, and every year we receive anniversary gifts from each of them on vastly different days. This year, we are having a private dinner on the same day we spoke our vows on the white, still sands of La Push.

And we are finally, finally going on a proper honeymoon. The wine arrives; I can tell it's not from the restaurant and will probably accompany us where ever we go, and that, Jacob has refused to reveal. "From Emily," he nods, confirming my suspicions.

"Does she know where we're going?" I look at him, mock accusation in my voice. He grins.

"Everybody knows but you, Bells." The waiter whispers in his ear, and Jake nods. The momentary interruption pulls his face away from the basking joy I'd been seeing, some of the seriousness returning just as the sun leaves us. I squeeze his hand.

"It's nothing," he says. "Embry can definitely handle it." The waiter has reappeared with a basket of fresh rolls, and I realize I'm starving. It's hard to let go of his hands and eat.

"Are you sure?" I don't really want to ask; I want him all to myself, and I don't want to even entertain the idea that something more important—always something more important—could possibly come up at this moment. Our moment. But I feel like I have to. He studies me with knowing eyes.

"Don't worry about anything, Bells," he rumbles, his voice suddenly soft. The erotic charge that surges through me when I hear it stills the knife in my hands, almost makes me drop the bread I'm holding. The look in his eyes tells me he feels exactly the way I do about our time together. "There is nothing in this world that can come between us."

"For the next four days, anyway," I smile ruefully, not wanting to let go of the release I feel; on the other hand, I don't want to build up my hopes and have them dashed, mercilessly, later on. But Jacob's intensity doesn't waver, and he leans forward, taking my hands in his again.

"Nothing comes between us, Bella," he says in the same soft voice. His black eyes are unblinking, the long eyelashes that frame them stock still. "Nothing is more important to me than you and our family, and that never changes." I break his gaze and rub my thumbs absently over his skin, looking down. I know what he's saying is true, but I know he understands that's not really what I meant, either. He sighs. "I've got everybody working over time on this, Bells. There's literally no possible chance that anything can interfere with us—they want to help. Everybody." He catches my thumbs, desperate to make me understand. "Please. Let me spoil you, and just relax and enjoy it, okay?"

I don't expect to cry, but I do. Just a little bit. It's the sight of our hands, really, that does it; Jacob's are scarred and calloused, but in spite of their evident hard use, they are still the hands of a young man. My hands are also scarred, now. They have the raw, bitten nails of a mother, and the drying skin of a woman who's reached thirty. I know now that they are not old hands, precisely, but they look ragged and ancient next to the firm, strong skin of my husband. I pull them away, and hide the gesture by grabbing a napkin and dabbing at my eyes. Jacob looks momentarily miserable. I notice the waiter is fluttering nervously behind him with steaming trays of food, unsure of what to do, and I wave him closer.

"It's alright, honey," I say, knowing the young man is probably terrified of upsetting Jacob. "I'm just over-excited that I get my husband all to myself tonight." I shoot a well practiced smile at him that I know can convince anyone—except Jake—that things are perfectly perfect. He places our food carefully on the table and then disappears. Jacob's eyes are still sad.

"I keep hoping you'll outgrow that," he mumbles. The food smells delicious, and I grin at him, trying to aim for a subtle acknowledgement that what's happened is done, and dig in to my ravioli.

"There's not much I'm going to outgrow at this point," I say, my mouth full. I smile at him with my cheeks stuffed, and in spite of himself, he laughs his wonderful, rowdy laugh.

"See?" He shakes his head. "You're even doing it with me." I point to his food, as if to say shut up and eat. "You don't have to make everyone comfortable all the time, Bells," he finishes, still shaking his head. I'm glad his hair is loose tonight. It moves around his face, beautiful black ropes of it, and he has to push it over his shoulder to keep it from interfering with his food. He catches me watching him and kinks an eyebrow at me. "I wore it down for you."

"I love it," I say, and then we've forgotten the world again, and it seems, for now, that it has forgotten about us. We pass two, then three hours just eating, talking, laughing, and holding hands. Nothing of vital importance intrudes; everything is refreshingly, fleetingly light.

The table is cleared, except for the absurdly expensive espresso Alice instructed the restaurant to give us and the home-made blueberry tort Emily sent over. No one is still at the restaurant, in fact, but the owner and us; Jacob reassures me that this is part of the plan and we are not inconveniencing anyone (while wryly rolling his eyes) as the candles flicker around us. The view outside of the darkened windows is ghostly, but the virus inside of me sharpens the glistening tips of the waves as they gently roll in beneath the stars. Jacob follows my eyes, leaving the last bight to wait.

"This was probably the worst time to do this," I hear myself say. I don't mean to say it; the evening's been wonderful, and we've managed to avoid talking about anything but the kids and family and books and movies and whatever else we could think of that had nothing to do with what dominates our lives. I don't say anything else when I hear him sigh.

"Bells, there are some things we should probably talk about. Regarding that," he says. My eyes find his; the soft light in the room only intensifies how beautiful he is. The smooth, blank slip of white that divides his lip gleams in the candle light.

"Should we?" I take another sip of coffee and look down at the tort, which is delicious, but more than I can finish. "I don't even know why I brought it up."

"Because it's hard not to think about all that stuff. And there never has been a better time for our honeymoon, so why wait…" Jacob murmurs, taking my hand in his and ignoring the spoon inside of it, not wanting to finish the thought: there never will be a better time. "Listen—I didn't want to tell you right now, but we may as well talk about it, instead of having it ruin the rest of our time alone."

I look up at him sharply. "It's not ruining things, Jake, I just—"

"I'm tired of it too, Bells," he says, firmly, and he is talking about everything, I know, and I also know that something has changed. He doesn't let go of my hand. "I'm retiring. Not right away—" he stumbles to continue after I gasp—" but it looks like I can in about five years."

"Oh my god, Jake," I say. I begin to cry again, and he moves around to my side of the table and wraps his incredibly warm, comforting arms around me. I'm embarrassed that this is how I've reacted, partially because it lays bare so much of the pain I've been lying to hide. Jacob has always known, though, of course, and he holds me tighter, and tighter, whispering.

"When Leah and Edward went to Tibet, they covered the last territory we needed to reach," he begins. "There's enough now that Aro had to recognize the need for the Council, and his ranks are steadily shrinking." I weep in to his collar openly. "We weren't sure of it before, but that's why Edward and Leah are back in Australia—it's where he wanted to meet them."

"How do you know it's not an ambush?" I stare in to his eyes, suddenly afraid, and one of his hands creeps up to my face and sweeps my cheek with a broad thumb.

"Well, there's Alice, but more importantly, the vamps there are organized. Way organized." He smiles. "They actually have registration numbers—like a census—for who's vegetarian and who's not." His smile fades a little bit, but only a little. "There's a lot of them still that aren't really interested in giving up the old way, but there are a lot who already had before Leah and Edward even found them. Apparently, they had a situation there like the South did, years ago—we're talking vampire years, so who knows how many hundreds of centuries—and lots of them got sick of killing. Crazy, right?" I nod feebly. "Well, all those registered veggie vamps are a guaranteed body guard squad for the United Representatives of the Supernatural USA." He knows that name always makes me laugh out loud. The sound is startling in the big, empty room.

"You guys are going to have to think of a real name for yourselves eventually," I say. "Not everybody appreciates Leah's sense of humor."

"You do, though," Jake smiles at me, "and that's really what I care about." I snuggle closer in to his chest, feeling the heat there spreading through me, his heart loud and clear to my ears.

"Is this for real?" I am afraid—don't take this away from me. Don't tell me this and then have it not come true. "I'm not sure I can believe you."

"It's for real," Jake whispers, and kisses my temple. "The Children of the Moon have agreed to stop turning people just to increase their numbers, and the vampires—the veggies—have done the same." This is old news, repeated to me constantly since the siege in Volterra, when Jacob assumed command not only of the La Push Pack, but the international community of werewolves. "We've been tracking everybody, and it's actually true. They have."

"What about them?" I whisper back. He knows I mean the traditional vampires, the ones that have gathered around Aro and continue drinking blood. Their numbers surged drastically following the battle in the Tower, in order to replenish lost numbers; almost the entire guard was killed, if not in battle then in the fire that followed.

"Well," Jake begins, and I can hear something amused and smug in his voice, "we found out something interesting recently that also lead to the meeting." He rearranges me, subconsciously strong enough to pick up my entire weight and shift it without noticing or breaking the flow of his thoughts. "As soon as their numbers went up really high, they started going down again just as suddenly."

"Jasper said that would happen," I remind him, and Jake nods gravely.

"Jasper was right. But also, apparently not everybody was so in love with the guard anyway." He is trying not to be grossly, inappropriately gleeful at the prospect of more slaughter, but he is failing a little; his lips, generously full and impossible to ignore, are smirking. "Some Transylvanian vamps—who are totally uninterested in the way our folks live—have been waiting a long time to take out Aro."

"I'm not getting it," I say, feeling the crease between my brows.

"Aro's fighting a war on two fronts," Jake says simply. "He knows he can't keep fighting us—more and more vampires are giving up eating humans. As soon as they know they can have real relationships again, the newbies don't even care, most of the time." I raise my eyebrows and he nods deferentially. "Well, they can't control themselves, of course. But then, Australia is a big country. With lots of wild animals."

"You can't just ship all of them to Australia," I say, and Jake grins.

"Well, of course not. Why do that, when we can ship some of them to Alaska or, I don't know…Tibet?" I roll my eyes and we laugh again, and then Jacob looks a little more serious and continues. "Aro is in a race with those other old guys to be acknowledged as the legitimate head of the traditional vampires. So—Australia."

"This isn't really the end, then, Jake," I say, a wan smile on my face. "This might be a temporary lull in the fighting, but…" He studies my face, and he's so close I can almost hear the sparks of electricity shooting through his nerves, making his eyes tick back and forth so fast. "Do you really think Aro is just going to give up? He's not. He wants to live forever and ever and ever in some disgusting, blood drenched fantasy land." When I think about Aro I always get angry; Alice has regretted telling me that he was the one that she thought would bight me since the words came out of her mouth.

"It's the nature of the beast, Bells," Jake says, and, for some reason, an undercurrent of his alpha voice intertwines the words. "Those kinds of vamps—the old school—they kill each other. They fight among themselves, they're loners who hate being told what to do." He looks deeply in to my eyes again, wanting me to understand. "We're not even fighting them, most of the time, and they're still dying constantly."

"So you're saying it's only a matter of time before they're too small a minority to worry about?" I sift through the feelings I have about this; even though I loathe them, it seems extraordinarily cruel to wait them out of existence. As I follow this line of thought, I am forced to remember that once, long ago, what began all of this was their wish to do the same to the La Push wolves, and I shudder.

"Well, I wouldn't put it like that," Jake says quietly. "From what we can tell, most new vamps have about a fifty-fifty chance of going either way. Some people are gross and like killing, and those people are not going to be excited about the new diet." He strokes my cheek again. "What really seems to make the difference is whether or not they're mates. When they fall in love, they seem more interested in being able to exist in family units." We are quiet for a minute, thinking of Esme and her brood of werewolf children. Many new foster families have sprung up with vegetarian vamps adopting orphaned children of the moon, in a bizarre, ironic twist of fate. Edward believes this was the most unifying motivator between the two communities, and Leah seems to agree.

Leah. "Who is going to take your place?" My hand holds his against my face, and he nods his answer, as if to say, of course you know. I sigh. "But then…"

He shakes his head this time. "She's ready, Bells. We think she may have been born for it." It's a heavy thought. "Edward is happy to point out that it was just us being sexist barbarians that always made us think Seth was next in line, genetically speaking." We grin until something else occurs to me, and I can hear the panic in my voice returning.

"But children, Jake—when can she stop—"

"She doesn't want to stop," Jake tells me gently, knowing that this is the bad news. Leah will stay young, while I age; part of my heart breaks, because I know that Jacob, too, will probably live too long to reasonably stay with me and the thought insidiously aligns itself next to the new knowledge of Leah's plans. Jake and I never talk about it. It's our only taboo. "She has Edward, and he's never going to…" His voice trails away as he looks at me.

The truth is, there is no perfect replacement for Jacob. He is the only creature on earth that could have unified the Children of the Moon with the La Push Wolves, let alone with vampires. Jacob is alpha to thousands and thousands of wolves, many of whom he has never or will never meet, all over the world. He has spent the past five years trying to, while building an impregnable army out of the dregs of a beaten species, the rogue empathetic vampires that didn't want to kill, and his own home-grown warriors. The Hunter is whispered reverentially between allies and screamed in sheer terror by enemies. No one can replace Jake, even if he technically retires from the fragile position of Alpha. My face falls. He pulls me close again.

"This was supposed to be happy news, Bells, honey," he sighs. "This was supposed to be the next Big Bang in our little universe. I can't believe I said the wrong thing, tonight of all nights." His words make me sob a little harder; our little universe hasn't existed since before Volterra, before constant war, before I had to share him, every moment of every day, with thousands of needy people. It would be different, I've always told myself, if he weren't doing something great. Something desperately, unbelievably important that literally no one else in the world could do. I could be one of those house-wives who finally puts her foot down, bringing her ambitious husband to heel. Instead, I'm a librarian who permanently holds her foot aloft, trying desperately to fight off innate selfishness at every turn, so that the world can know peace. And I've never even really cried about it, until tonight. "I'm so sorry, Bells," he whispers.

Our little universe. Images of our first night together suddenly invade my mind…I guess I knew I would never be whole again, even if I had no idea what that would really feel like, or how it would actually happen. It amuses me that I thought I knew what love was back then, and I laugh a little, awkwardly, against his neck.

There are no right words to say, I think, and begin to kiss him. His body freezes, confused. There is no magic spell, no perfect, reasonable phrase to describe this…this everything. Everything we say, even the things we do…love is indefinable, too strange and broad and everywhere to be contained. By my mind, my hopelessly inadequate voice box—by Jacob's new story about retirement. Love like this is too big for all of that.

"Let's go," I whisper to him; the pure embodiment of that energy, for me, is Jacob Black. He is my whole, half-supernatural, all human heart, my dreams and my waking life. "I don't even care where."

He knows what I mean, and carries me out of the door, the owner watching us go with a small smile as he locks the door behind us.

*****

"Wake up Bells," he says, close to my ear, letting his lips graze my throat. I'm asleep in his arms, somewhere in the dark. I hear the wind rustling through pine trees, high above, and try to focus my eyes. My humanity interferes with the strangest things, my vision among them, when I'm sleepy; I've gotten accustomed to having excellent eye sight. Charlie has never gotten over the fact that once I came out of my coma, I was instantly in better health than ever before. No more accidents. No more fainting, or fevers, or anything.

But I still blush, constantly, from all kinds of emotions—embarrassment, excitement, desire, joy—and I am feeling most of them, right now, looking at the place where Jake and I will be spending our honeymoon.

His parents cabin. Where we were first together.

It's the same, but not—I can clearly smell fresh paint and sawdust, and I know some serious renovations have occurred here prior to our arrival. In fact…as I raise my head, opening the car door and moving slowly towards the front door…I can tell that Quil and Embry were here today. Their scent is all over the porch.

"Everybody pitched in," Jake says. His voice is shaky. He is standing on the other side of the car, the door open and dull light pooling around the lower half of his body; I have to tune it out to see the expression on his face.

He's bighting his lip, his teeth tugging nervously on the white scar in the center. It's all I can do not to climb over the hood of the car to get to him.

He lets me kiss him, the last bit of sleepiness totally swept away once the car door is closed and I see his face in the starlight. The clearing around the house is exactly the way I last saw it. We've often spoken of trying to make a trip back, get the kids, spend some real time here, but it never happened. Instead, Billy would make periodic trips up with the twins and Jake and I would sadly shake our heads and say next time. "Let me show you the house," he enthuses, and I laugh, because he called the cabin a house. And because I'm not sure I've ever been so happy. It's hard to tell.

We cross the porch—the shape has been retained, but much of the wood is new, and the acrid smell of paint is everywhere—but before he opens the door, he turns to me and silently scoops me in to his strong arms. I am laughing again, just like the last time, my head bumping against his chest as he crosses the threshold.

"Wow, Jake," I breathe, taking in the room as he sets me down. Fresh flowers scent the air, taking the sting out of the paint. The room looks spacious, albeit cozy, with low seats and lush pillows everywhere; the kitchen is now actually a kitchen, done in neutral tones. The modern feel smacks of Alice's tastes. "This is lovely."

"You should see the bedroom," Jake grins, and then swings open a door I hadn't previously noticed. I step through it to discover a round room, the perfect new addition, sculpted windows arcing high above us to let in the starlight. The effect is stunning. "Esme," he explains, and I nod.

The bed in the center has a quilt on it; at first it jars with the more modern seeming room, but then I see it blends well. A delicate star pattern trails the edges, and the subtle colors match the wooden frames of the bed and windows. As I finger the light fabric, I see initials sewn in the pale cloth, and realize that Esme, Rose, Renee, The Clearwater women and Emily all had a hand in it. Jacob quietly steps up beside me. "They all worked on pieces of it," he says, "for a long time. Alice organized it, of course, although she insists she can't sew." He shakes his head, placing one hand on my shoulder. "She says she left something else for us instead."

"Did all the guys work on this together?" As I look around the room, I see the fine construction, the doorway to the bath open and revealing a massive tub. Jacob nods.

"Everybody built something. I think Carlisle did the plumbing on the toilet."

"You're joking," I gasp with laughter, and Jacob shakes his head at me, grinning.

"Nope." He turns my body towards his own, and kisses my forehead. "And when I say everybody, I mean your mom was in here with a hammer at one point, working away."

"Jacob," I breathe, the enormity of the endeavor suddenly hitting me, "how in the world—"

"Well, Bella, what can I say? We have one of the biggest, weirdest, most thoughtful families in the world." He looks deeply in my eyes, watching my face, and smiles again. "You have to understand, Bells…everybody knows how hard things have been on us. And even if you can't see it—you changed the world, honey." I shrug out from under his arms, sighing; I've heard this before. I first heard it from a vampire trying to kill me beside a rainy highway leading to this very house. "Nobody else could have made us all a family. Nobody else could have started this whole thing and kept it rolling until the entire world was in on it." Jacob speaks softly, awe edging around each word.

"Sometimes…." I begin, staring out of the windows over our new bed. "Sometimes I almost wish…" But I can't. I can't regret my Jacob, our beautiful, precocious children, our family. The family that worked this hard to give Jake and I a special place and time with each other. I shake my head and turn back towards him, wrapping my arms around his waist. "This is incredible." He lets me change the subject, understanding everything as if he'd heard it out loud.

"The whole thing was Edward's idea. Once he and Alice are on the same team, boy…look out." We laughed together, and he held me close for a minute. "Speaking of," he mumbles, into my hair, "Alice said she'd like for us to open her gift before we….got settled." I raise my eyebrows, and he shrugs. "She said it'd be in the kitchen."

"Vampire sense of humor, I'm sure," I say, still giddy, still unbelieving. The cabin is the most beautiful building I've ever been in. Even the doorways have been modified to accommodate Jacob's height; skylights above us frame everything in starlight. We stand in the kitchen, holding hands, and don't notice anything flamboyant enough to be from Alice. "That's weird," I say, and we both laugh, dazed and joyful. The house is so quiet. We're all alone. It's wonderful.

"Wait," Jacob says, stopping short, and I almost tell him to forget it, and then think of all the effort so many put in to this evening, Alice among them. He walks over to the fridge and pulls an envelope out from under a magnet there. "This has our names on it," he affirms and walks back towards me. We make our way to one of the couches, and as he rips it open I see a stack of puzzles and games for the kids. That Esme.

"Dear Bella and Jacob," he begins, and I lean away from him to gaze at the book titles on the shelf next to us. "I feel like I am always leaving you mysterious letters. I hope you can forgive my flair for melodrama." We roll our eyes, grinning blithely, and I stand up again to examine the vase of flowers. "In all seriousness," Jacob continues, "I wanted to be very sure of this before I told you, and today I am sure, so I can thank timing for the drama this once." Jake's voice has dropped slightly, some of the glee leaving it. He's trying not to read ahead. I turn to face him, holding one of the lilies in my hands.

"Seeing our futures has become increasingly difficult ever since Volterra, and although it can frustrate me at times I am very happy for the reasons why. However, I know that Bella—forgive me—is unhappy when she thinks about growing older while you, Jacob…" His voice grows faint for a second. "While you, Jacob, must stay young and strong enough to command." We are quiet. The taboo is broken, and the fissures in my heart widen uncomfortably. He lurches on. "I know you have hopes that Leah will take over most of your duties so you can spend more time with Bella while you can. Unfortunately, it has been impossible for me to see how things play out. Try as I might, all of our futures are totally obscured." It was almost amusing to think of how excited the wolves had been when they first discovered Alice couldn't see them. Almost.

Jacob, ever the soldier, continues. "I decided to try and follow someone else, recently, in order to accomplish this: Aro." I almost drop the flowers at this point, and Jacob's voice develops a harder edge. "He has virtually no direct contact with us, and as time has gone by and my effort has increased, it has become easier and easier to discern his future." Jacob and I briefly lock eyes. "This afternoon, I saw all possible paths but one disappear. I can only assume that his meeting with Edward and Leah went well, because I could not watch that, but afterwards it is obvious that he will spend many years—centuries, in fact—in written contact with a growing nation of vampires living with werewolves, none of whom depend on humanity for subsistence. He will isolate in a diminishing traditional vampire community in northern Italy, and in this vein—many, many years from now—his paths once again divide into two. Aro himself may one day give up the old ways.

There is no further battle with the Transylvanians. I can only guess they are killed soon after the meeting today. There is virtually no fighting with us. There seems to be fewer and fewer vampires or werewolves in general, but of the ones who remain, they do not seem interested in living the kind of isolated life necessary for human consumption. In effect, the war is over." Jacob takes a long moment to absorb what Alice is saying. I find there are tears—all of these tears today, so strange after such long years without—on my cheeks. "In three years," he reads, and as he reads, I realize that he too has begun to cry, "there is no correspondence between Aro and yourself, Jake. It seems that Leah succeeds you as Alpha over all the groups and there is no mutiny. She stays in command for several peaceful centuries." Jacob weeps openly now. My legs have given out from under me. "Perhaps Edward is right, and that was her destiny all along. After all, you did kind of end up with a werewolf." We both laugh out loud at that, long, desperate laughter, the only kind of laughter that can follow terrible grief. I crawl towards him as he reads her final words. "I think it's safe, Jake. Your job is done. You were the only one that could stabilize the union, but Leah will lead them well. Love you very much Bella. Happy anniversary. Alice." We hold each other on the couch for a very long time. It begins to rain.

"You can stop phasing," I whisper, finally. I am curled up on top of Jake, who almost fits on the couch. His legs dangle off of the side. Our heartbeats echo back and forth, calling to one another.

"Yes," he smiles, and pulls me tighter against him, and then pulls back. His brows are low. "But you can't."

"Oh," I say, surprised. "Holy crow, Jake, I didn't even think of that." He rolls his eyes whenever I say holy crow.

"It's alright," he replies suddenly, grinning again. "I don't need to phase to keep up with you, old lady." He is still grinning when I slap his chest uselessly with my hand, and when I kiss him.

The kiss doesn't end. It lasts all night, and through the next couple of days. It lasts through his stumbling explanation of why he didn't say that his culture was the one he was referencing when he carried me through the door, so many years ago; it lasts through a full day of quiet and breakfast in bed, among other things. It continues when I go back to work and he has a conference with Leah and Edward, telling them, with Alice, what the future looks like. It lasts through the fearful First Council, where the three of them, and Aro, convene and discuss the future of their respective species; it lasts through his depression when he does stop phasing, and his great joy when the kids start. It lasts through Leah and Edward's wedding, and through all our parents' funerals, and our own children's weddings. It lasts forever.

It lasts longer than we do. It can not end.

*****

Well, ladies and gentlemen, that is the end of that. I hope you enjoyed it. Before I get thirty emails with questions left unanswered, let me tell you that this story is done, but there will be several out-takes in the final chapter (last and next). None of them are from Bella's perspective, and I debated about making them a separate story altogether, but they aren't, really. They're all a part of this one, sort of kind of youknowwhatImean. Watch for it within the next two weeks. When my lj is up with the CYOA version of this story, it'll be in my profile page. That may take some time—I'm kinda burnt on being Bella Swan's voice for a while. In the meantime, this was great fun. I really, really appreciate the incredibly kind words of the reviewers—I can't thank you enough, any of you, and although I hope to wind my way through and send some personal thank yous, I want you to know how rewarding it has been right now. Many, many thanks.