"How could you think it was alright not to tell me?!"

They'd gone outside, and far enough away from the house that they would have some privacy.

Alice looked at him, closing her eyes and shaking her head. He just didn't get it. "Edward," she said slowly, "how obtuse can you be?"

"She's a danger magnet, Alice. You've seen it. How could you agree to what she asked?"

"Really, Edward?"

"ANSWER ME!" He roared.

"You're pushing her away!" Alice snapped back.

"How? By trying to keep her safe?!"

"By insisting on your own terms! With everything! By living in denial of the danger she is in."

"And you think that not using your gift is helping with that?!"

"If you insist on her being human, Edward, then let her be human. Let her enjoy the life she has. God knows it won't be very long with the Volturi coming to check on her."

"Have you seen?" he asked, suddenly still, the fear a cold possibility at his back.

Alice was quieter too, turning away, kicking at a stone by her feet. "I've only had to check your future for that, Edward," and she showed him what she'd seen. The flashes of multiple possibilities all ended the same way—with him, and Bella, dead. She didn't show him the rest of it. She didn't want to see it again.

"There are other possibilities," he said cooly.

Alice grimaced, and shook her head at his obstinacy. "They all end the same way, Edward. How can you even hope to evade Demitri?"

"He can't find her," he said, shaking his head. "There has to be a way."

"All he has to do is find you," Alice gritted out, hissing "Quiet!" at him when he again went to interrupt. "I left her, because you asked. I didn't say goodbye. I just left. Look how well that worked." She met his angry gaze. "You're out of favours from me on this front. I owe her this. You'll have to find another way to manage your own anxiety."

She didn't wait for his response, but disappeared, mentally grumbling at his obstinacy, heading East. He heard her silent goodbye, and knew it would be at least a few days before he saw her, or Jasper again.

In some ways, he was glad. It would give him time to calm down.

If he could.

The night passed fitfully, and he stopped himself, several times, just on the verge of moving towards her window. It was instinctual, the need for her, and he struggled to contain it.

He was beyond himself by the time he met her at school the next morning.

She was reserved, though, still holding her hands to herself, not sparing him even the slightest touch.

It was eerily reminiscent of the days after her last, disastrous birthday party, and he had to tell himself that he was being ridiculous, drawing parallels. It was hard to believe it though, and Bella's spare conversation throughout the day did not reassure him.

It was a mild reprieve, when he asked if he was welcome to join her, to be told yes.

She was still reticent though, and talked minimally, working on her homework as he pretended to attend to his.

He'd never seen her shut down like this, but when he apologized—again—for yelling, she only shook her head, giving him a wan smile.

"See you later?" he asked quietly at the door.

"Please," she said, but her forehead was wrinkled when she spoke.

She was worried.

He leaned forward, kissing her quickly there, snatching in a deep breath of her scent. He felt like a man drowning, and fighting for air, having it there.

When he returned, hours later, she was uncharacteristically still, sitting in bed, seemingly staring at nothing. Waiting.

Her face blossomed when she saw him, but not in the way he'd come to expect. The transformation unravelled a string of fear there, and he felt his own self shifted by it.

"Hi," she said, not standing to greet him.

"Hey," he made himself say, moving to the rocking chair, not certain of his welcome beside her.

She swallowed, audibly, and her heart skipped a beat. Her hands remained folded over her knee, one leg crossed over the other. She looked as precarious as he felt.

He knew enough to know that everything was balanced, for the moment, but about to fall. He just didn't know what way. She'd been waiting for him. And not with eager expectation. She was nervous.

"I've been thinking," she said softly, needing to clear her throat again. "About us."

Edward made himself remain calm.

"Oh," he said, trying to appear at ease, waiting for her to continue.

She gave an apologetic smile. "I understand you don't want me to be changed."

"No," he said, "I don't."

"And that you want me to remain human."

He nodded, waiting for her to go on.

"And I will be," she said, "for a time."

For a time? What did she mean—?

"After that, though, I will be changed." She met his eyes.

The look on his face must have alarmed her, because she started a bit before he could muster his control again. "No," he said, "I won't—"

"It won't be up to you," she said, her jaw a hard line.

"No," he said, the intonation making it a command.

"Alice will do it," Bella said quietly. She wasn't arguing, he realized. She was simply stating a fact.

Alice had agreed to this.

Alice already agreed to this, his mind supplied. Because the Volturi had pressed.

"Bella—," he started, but she wouldn't let him continue.

"Listen, please," she said. "This is important."

He took a deep breath in, sitting up in the chair, leaning back, forcing his hands to unclench. He nodded.

"Is it...that you don't want me, as a vampire?" she asked, curiosity—and then fear, in her voice.

"Oh Bella, you know the answer to that." How could she ask?

"No," she said, "I don't." Her voice shook here.

"I don't want this for you," he said, his hand pointed to himself, then trying again to reach for her hand.

She pulled it back more definitively this time. "Please don't," she whispered.

He put both his hands on his knees, commanding them to be still.

"Of course I want you, Bella, but I won't see you damned for it."

"Would you want me as a vampire?"

"I love you, Bella, no matter what. Yes."

"But you won't change me."

"No."

She nodded, as if expecting this. She thought for a moment before saying what came next.

"We can't be together while I'm human."

"No," he said, "not without me hurting you—"

"No," she said immediately, "I mean as a couple."

His insides felt like they'd collapsed. Was she—? "What?" he managed. His knees were beginning to ache under the pressure of his hands.

"We're not...equal, Edward, and we never will be. Not while I'm...this," and she gestured to herself.

He was breathing shallowly. It was a human instinct, one dredged up by the sharp pain that was threatening to spread inside.

She was leaving him.

He closed his eyes.

He deserved this. What he had loosed last fall had come back to him.

"I'm not asking you to leave," she said. "But if we're going to be together—what point is there, if we're never equal partners?"

Edward wanted to interject, but he kept his mouth closed

"I need to be able to grow, Edward. To be free to...be myself. To do things you don't approve of—would stop me from doing. To have all those human experiences you say you want me to have...but won't let me."

"I—" he started.

"It's true," she said.

She paused a bit here, and Edward watched her face, trying to wrangle all the feelings that were competing for space, trying to think logically.

"I love you," she said, a crack splitting the words. "But there can't be a future for us, until we're on level ground. That won't happen until I'm like you."

Edward closed his eyes again. There was certainty painted in her voice. And if Alice had promised...Damn you, Alice, he thought.

It took him some time to dredge his voice up, without bringing his heart along with it. "What do you mean, you 'need to be able to grow'?"

"I mean," she said, "that I need time to be on my own. I need space. Time. A year seems a logical place. Then," she added, "we can reevaluate. If we want to be together as a couple—equally—" she stressed the word, "we can."

His relief was almost palpable. A year. She wanted to be seperated for a year. Of course, his feelings for her wouldn't change.

If hers did—he stopped himself there. He couldn't consider that.

"And," she said, voice tenuous, "if our feelings...are different, after I'm changed, I'll leave as soon as I'm able." She finished this last part with difficulty.

She thought he wouldn't want her. His hand escaped him, reaching for his, but her "No," stopped it, halfway there.

"I need you to give me...space, Edward."

She didn't mean just right now. She wanted them to be physically apart.

His insides resumed their distressed squirm.

"Of course," he said.

"No being my bodyguard, or any other Cullens, either."

"No." He stopped himself from growling it out, but it was a close thing.

"This isn't negotiable."

"Bella," he said, his voice louder than it should be, "Victoria—"

"Hasn't been here in ages."

"That's no guarantee—"

"No," she said, her voice steely. "There are no guarantees. When you're human."

"This is ridiculous!" he spat out, half standing, "Bella, when we can keep you safe—she could kill you!"

"Yes," Bella said, nodding, "she could. Or Charlie, or my mother, or my friends, or anyone I care about. And I am helpless to protect them."

"We can—"

"Yes," she said, "you can. I can't. That's what it means to be human. If you don't like it, there's a very simple solution."

This wasn't an ultimatum, it was an ambush.

He closed his eyes again. There had to be a way around this.

"I'm not saying they can't be around me, but I'm done with the Cullen bubble wrap."

There it was.

She could at least be safe. They would find a way. She wouldn't know, but they would.

Bella watched him think. She'd expected him to be angry, to fight this, but to see him accept, even part of it, only fanned the flame of fear that had never left her from last fall. He would let her go. There were no guarantees.

"Can I ask you some questions?" he finally said.

"Yes," she said more calmly than she felt. She clutched at her knees still. She couldn't trust herself to touch him, or him her.

"Can we have a friendship during this time?"

"What," she asked slowly, watching her fingers twitch, "would that mean?" She hadn't trusted herself to propose this. She was terrified her resolve to do this would crumble at the first test.

He leaned forward, fingertips pressed together, elbows on his legs. "Just that. Friendship."

"That doesn't sound like space, Edward."

"Friends," he said, "see each other somewhat regularly. Sometimes even a few times a week." This was an exorbitant overestimation, but it would make her counter with something reasonable. Something he could accept.

"I think once a week would be more accurate."

"Once a week works for me."

She dared to meet his eyes. "In September," she said. "We can start then."

He would see her at school for now. That was inevitable. But then it meant two months of giving her…'space'.

Of not seeing her.

He nodded against this distress.

Bella was once again composing her face.

"Do you have other questions?" she asked. She wasn't sure she wanted to know.

"Yes," he said. "I want to know if you'll call us for help, if you need it."

"What kind of help?" she asked, immediately suspicious.

"The kind that we are suited to provide," he said evenly, and then pleadingly. "Please, if you ever feel you are in danger, or need us, you won't hesitate."

"No, if I feel I need it, I'll ask." She looked away again, his gaze heavier on her. "Anything else?" She was ready to be done. Almost pushed to her own limit.

He thought carefully before he asked. "Is this...perceived inequality...the only reason for this separation?"

This perceived inequality? Was he blind? She stared at him for a moment. Did he really think them equal? The question strengthened her resolve even more.

She only nodded. Perhaps he would understand.

Perhaps.

Perhaps he would simply lose interest, too, the small voice of doubt whispered.

"I um, need to get some sleep," she said, trying to avoid his eye contact. "Unless you have more questions?"

Only a million. Only anything to delay this.

"Good night," he said, "I'll see you at school tomorrow."

"Good night," she said.

And he was gone.

She shakily texted Alice, before the tears took over: "It's done."

Disclaimer: S. Meyer owns Twilight. No copyright infringement intended.