A/N: Mario = male version of Maria (which Mary is derived from, which was Alice's human name)—hence, Archie's human name.
See you guys at the end!
(I swear, I've proofread this chapter like 3 times, and just watch—as soon as I upload it and read it through on FF, I'll find copious errors. *rolls eyes* I just can't win…)
…
Upon our arrival to the ER, Beau was immediately taken into a trauma room. When I tried to follow the gurney inside, a nurse put a hard hand on my shoulder.
He immediately retracted it, horrified by my coolness, but I couldn't bring myself to step back.
"You can't come in here," he said firmly.
My eyes flashed past his elbow, where they were hooking Beau up to oxygen, clipping a monitor to his finger, and starting an IV. Desperately, I wanted to push past this imbecile and barge into that room.
But Carine came up behind me and put her hands on my shoulders.
He's in good hands, she assured me.
The male nurse was satisfied that my mother was here to occupy me, and he turned to step into the trauma room, so he could aid the others' efforts.
I felt entirely helpless, and uncomfortably vulnerable. There had to be something I could do to help, even if it was just to stand there and hold his hand while the doctors and nurses worked on him.
He's probably going to need surgery, Carine told me now, We need to step back and let the doctors do their jobs.
A trembling breath hitched in my throat, and I turned toward her so I could wrap my arms around her face and lay my head on her shoulder.
"What did I do, Carine, what did I do?" I mumbled into her shirt, overcome with the dry, hitching tears.
"You did everything right, Edythe," she soothed me, stroking my loosely plaited hair with a sympathetic sigh. "You saved his life. There was nothing more either of us could have done. He'll survive this."
But I just shook my head, because she didn't understand what I was saying.
It had been nothing short of a miracle that I'd been able to make it to that wretched dance studio in time to tear the tracker off of him; it had been absolute divine intervention that I had been able to face the monster inside of me with such proximity, and emerge victorious. Somehow, I had been successful in sparing his human life. I didn't know how, and I didn't know when, but someday, somehow, I would have to do what I had always known was right. I would have to find a way to make him safe again.
It was becoming apparent that the only way to do so was to leave him after all. The searing agony that thought sent through my chest was sharp. It may have buckled my knees if I'd been human. As I was, I would remember all of this very clearly—the pain, the heartbreak, each precious memory of his face I would take with me…
I did not think he would want me to stay, now. Not after I'd caused him so much pain and fear and horror. How could he ever forgive me for this? He'd almost died, and I had very nearly taken that last vestige of vivacity from him, myself.
The notion made me sick with guilt.
They wheeled Beau away to surgery then, to repair the pneumothorax. I stared, longingly and anxiously, after the gurney they wheeled away, keeping my eyes fixed even as they went through the doors at the end of the hallway.
Why don't you check up on Archie? All we can do now is wait, anyhow.
I nodded curtly and turned toward the waiting room. The small area was surprisingly empty. There were only a few other patrons—a pair of parents with a small child between them, holding what looked like a sore wrist, and another couple a few rows over, the woman in tears, the man's arm around her shoulders, whispering soft placations in her ear.
Archie was in the far corner, legs stretched out in front of him, ankles crossed over. He was murmuring lowly into a small silver cell phone, but of course, I could hear every word.
"… The worst of it is his lung. He's in surgery now—"
"Surgery?! What on earth happened?" On the other end of the line, Charlie was frantic.
Archie's eyes flicked up to meet mine. "He agreed to come to the hotel to talk to Edythe… On the way up to our room, he tripped on the stairs… Fell down two flights and through a window." In his mind, I saw the scene he would tableau. The broken window, the fake blood on the sidewalk… Of course, he would take it too far. That was so Archie… "One of his ribs punctured a lung," he continued to explain now, "Broke his arm, too, I think… And his leg…" He winced, as the list continued to grow, "A bump on the head, too, they said, but only a couple of stitches."
Charlie sputtered unintelligibly for a moment and then demanded to speak with Carine.
"Ah… She's kinda caught up in some paperwork right now, Chief, but I'll get her to call you back right away. Does that work?"
Charlie huffed, his displeasure plain. "Guess so," he grumbled, "I'll fly out there as soon as I can, but I'll have to figure things out at the station first…"
"Don't worry, Chief—Beau is in very good hands," Archie assured him. "When he wakes up, I'll tell him you're on your way. I'm very sorry this happened, Sir…"
"Me too, Archie, me too," he said, his tone muted and calmer now. "Thanks for calling, kid."
"Of course," he responded, his tone a little more chipper now. "Anything for my good pal. I'll have Carine call you as soon as she's available."
When he ended the call, I went to sit in the chair next to him, leaning my head against his shoulder.
"Hm," he huffed after a moment, "He took that rather well, all things considered… D'you think Renee will be as receptive?"
"Mmm," I hummed, letting my eyes fall shut. "I wish."
The majority of the second phone call was spent trying to calm Renee down. She was absolutely beside herself with anxiety and concern—for all parties involved, but especially for Beau. She told Archie she'd catch the next flight out of Jacksonville, and she'd be here soon.
"El and Jess are sticking around to keep an eye out for the male," he told me when he'd ended the call.
"They don't have to do that," I protested.
Archie shrugged an arm over my shoulders. "They insisted. I think they wanted to give you a break."
We sat in companionable silence for a long moment.
"Did you watch the video yet?" I finally asked.
Archie shook his head. "Not yet. I was… Waiting for you." He glanced down at me. "Any interest in a family movie night?"
I snarled quietly and he winced. Yeah, probably not the classiest of jokes.
"No," I agreed in a ragged whisper. "Do you mind if I sit this one out? I don't think I can… Handle that right now. Besides, I can't leave him…"
"Sure, of course," Archie said, and leaned over to press his cheek to the top of my head. "You did good today, Edy."
I sighed. "I don't feel good."
"You saved his life," he whispered, "Of course you did well. In fact—you've completely succeeded in side-stepping both of my visions. Keep it up and you'll have me doubting my own abilities."
I reluctant smile stretched my lips, and we laughed quietly together.
Yes—it was true. I had managed to ensure his human survival, and I was exceedingly grateful for that. But my laughter quickly faded when I remembered what steps would need to be taken in order to ensure his humanity stayed firm. It would be worth it, I reminded myself, if it kept him alive and pure. It would be enough, and I could go on living my life in assurance of that logic.
"I know what you're thinking," Archie whispered, and there was a hint of malice in his voice, "And it's not going to work. So don't even think about trying."
I was shaking my head fervently. "I don't see any other way. He'll never forgive me for this. When he wakes up—"
"He'll be grateful for you," he interrupted quickly. "He'll thank you for saving his life, because that's what you did. None of this was your fault, Edy. Bad shit happens to really good people, and we have no idea why." Briefly, his thoughts flickered to the video and all the answers it might entail. He reoriented himself quickly, however. "He chose you, Edythe. Lord knows how many times you tried to stop him, but that's the truth. He chose you, he wants you, and he's not going to make it so easy for you to leave him. You have to accept—"
"What?" I interrupted, my tone scathing. I was on my feet in a sudden blur of fury. "I have to accept what, Archie? That he has to risk his life every second we're together? I have to accept that I almost got him killed today; I have to accept that he's in surgery right now, because by every fault of my own, I essentially sicked a tracker on him, who beat him within an inch of his life simply to spite me?! Do I have to accept that I nearly finished him off myself? I have to accept all of that?" My tone had risen in intensity and speed, taking on the hot edge of forged metal, by the time my furious monologue had come to an end, but Archie caught it all.
He didn't answer me. He only stared up at me from his seat with wide, golden eyes.
Finally he murmured, "I don't know the essentials or anything, but something tells me things are gonna work out for you two."
A very quiet hiss slipped through my teeth at the image in his head. "That is not happening," I whispered.
Archie shrugged, letting the image of newborn Beau go easily. "Maybe—maybe not," he said. Then he rose fluidly to his own feet and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Only time will tell… Now. If you'll excuse me, I have an accident scene to render, and ancient family secrets to unearth."
I sighed, bowing my head. "I'm sorry, Archie," I whispered.
But he shook his head, tugging on the end of my braid good-naturedly. "You've had a rough day. We all have. I'll see you soon."
"See you," I murmured, watching him wind sinuously through the rows of waiting room seats, and stroll through the automatic glass doors, out into the darkened parking lot.
.
I was very, very careful not to catch or pull on any of the wires or tubes sticking to and out of Beau when I was finally allowed to see him.
It was more difficult than I could imagine to see him like this—bruised and battered, swathed in gauze and plaster.
But the surgical procedure had proved successful. They'd mended the lacerations in his lungs, had inserted a chest tube on each side, and had encased his broken limbs in plaster. They were keeping him heavily sedated for the time being, to allow his injuries to heal with as little movement as possible, as well as to keep him comfortable.
They had him intubated, as well as attached to a cardiac monitor.
With supreme caution, I picked up his bandaged hand and held it to my lips.
"I'm here, Beau," I whispered, my voice quavering, "I'm right here… I'm so sorry, Beau." My breath caught in the relative silence of his room—aside from the whoosh of the intubator and the steady beeping of his heart monitor. "I never intended for this to happen to you. I've made so many mistakes. I should have stayed away from you, from the first day. I should never have come back again. I nearly destroyed your life… I could have taken everything from you…" I took a steadying breath. "But you're safe now, Beau. You're not alone… The doctors are taking good care of you; you're out of surgery now, and they said you're resilient—" A small note of laughter escaped my throat, because of course he was "and that you'll pull through this. They're keeping you asleep for now, because your injuries are…" Another small, hitching sob escaped. "They're particularly brutal, and we don't want you to be in pain… So you just sleep for now, Beau. You rest. And if you can find it in your heart to forgive me, dream of me. I'll be right here when you wake up."
I laid his hand carefully across his chest before leaning back in my seat. I breathed slowly and evenly, timing my inhalations and exhalations to the rise and fall of his chest. This rhythm was unfamiliar—it was not his usual, as a machine was doing the breathing for him. Also not familiar was his scent. My throat burned dimly all through the night.
Along with the necessary infusions, which tainted his blood with the smell of strangers, was the bitter aroma of opiates, the sickly sweet cloy of antibiotics, and varying other pharmaceuticals in his system.
Despite this, as the darkness crept toward early morning, the animal inside reared her head. Knowing what I knew now of how his blood tasted, the animal was quicker to rise to the occasion, and I felt deeply mortified in the face of this revelation.
The night nurse took good care of Beau, as well as myself. While I pretended to sleep, curled up in the chair by his bed, she brought me a blanket and covered me with it.
Poor girl, she thought as she stared at my profile in the greenish glow of the equipments' lights, She must really love this boy. It's refreshing, to see how devoted young ones can be…
Renee arrived early the next morning, frantic and half-crazed, as I would have suspected. I watched as she appeared in the doorway. Her face was surprisingly childlike, the baby blue of her eyes making her seem even more so.
She kind of looks like me, Beau had told me once, Same eyes, same color hair, but she's short… Extrovert… Brave… Eccentric…
I could see that courage in her face now, as she took in the sight of her battered and bruised son, hooked up to wires and tubes, surrounded by starched hospital linens, plaster and gauze… Her wide eyes swam with the glisten of tears, and her bottom lip quivered, but she stood as tall as her five-two frame allowed, shoulders back, and her chin held high. I could see who Beau had inherited his bravery from, and I immediately held Renee Dwyer in highest esteem.
"Oh," she breathed, a little unsteadily, "Oh, my baby boy…" And then her eyes turned on me. She jumped, startled by my stillness, and slowly, I uncurled my legs from beneath me and stood, laying the blanket over the arm of the turquoise recliner.
"Hello," I murmured, "I'm Edythe Cullen."
"Oh," she said again, and she lurched forward, across the room. Before I could process where she was going or what she was doing, she had her arms wrapped around me. "Oh, sweetheart—oh, Edythe—thank you! Thank you, dear."
"I…" I stammered, lifting hesitant arms to embrace her back. She didn't seem to notice my cool skin, as the nurse yesterday had, or my stone nature. "Of course," I breathed, and patted her very softly on the back.
"You poor thing," she exhaled as she pulled back to look at me, and now the tears coursed down her face. "You must be so scared, you poor girl. Are you alright?"
I could only stare into Beau's selfless, caring mother's face for a very long moment. Here I had been expecting her to be so angry with me, so frightened and disoriented, but she was asking if I was okay, and abruptly, the parallel between Beau and Renee was staggering. They were so much the same.
"I'm fine," I breathed.
She seemed to swallow back the rest of her tears, and then wiped her cheeks with the backs of her hands. Then she turned toward the bed, hands fluttering helplessly over her unconscious son's body.
"Oh, Beau," she moaned, laying her hands on either side of his slack face, "Oh, my baby. My poor boy." She sniffed, and glanced at me over her shoulder. "Your brother, Archie, was the one who called me?"
"Yes," I told her.
She turned her eyes back on Beau, running soft, warm looking hands over his face, shoulders, hands. He had her hands—long, slim fingers, pink blush in the knuckles, pale and vaguely sinewy…
Renee was very careful not to disturb any of the tubes or wires. She spoke her next words without taking her eyes off her son: "He said Beau… Fell down some stairs… And through a window?" Her voice caught on the last word, and she stroked a stray lock of hair away from Beau's forehead.
"That's the story," I murmured.
"And he had to have surgery?"
"Um," I said, "Yes. He had a… A punctured lung. Some broken bones, too, I think. The doctors said he's resilient."
A quiet, breathless note of laughter escaped her, entirely humorless. "Of course he's resilient, of course he is," she crooned, taking the seat I'd abandoned without letting go of his hand. She cradled it in both of hers, treating him with such fragile gentleness it touched me deeply. She loved him with a far greater love than I ever could have foreseen. There was something in her that reminded me of my own mother, as far removed my memories of her were.
"You're alright, baby," she whispered to him, "You'll be alright. Mommy's here. I'm with you…"
I could hear Archie in the hallway, and I tore my eyes unwillingly from the touching scene in front of me.
"I was just about to go get some breakfast," I said quietly to Renee, remembering I had an appearance to uphold. "Can I get you anything? I'll give you a few minutes alone with him…"
"Oh, no, dear," she shook her head at me, "I ate on the airplane. Thank you. Take your time. Go back to the hotel and rest. I'll stay with him." She turned to offer me a gentle smile, her eyes swimming with kindness, and an unthinking smile pulled up the corners of my own lips.
"Thank you," I told her, and I turned to step into the hallway.
Carine stood with Beau's doctor, discussing his charts from the night previous. As far as I knew, he was perfectly stable and on his way to a full recovery. The intubation was simply due to the depth of his unconsciousness. The drugs rendered certain instincts redundant.
Archie stood a few feet apart from them, leaning against the wall. He fixed his eyes on me.
Breakfast?
I smirked at him, and jerked my chin toward the unit's doors. We walked down the long hallway together, around the nurses' station, and through the automatic double doors.
Alone in the elevator, Archie briefed me on Joss's amateur home movie. It was absolutely horrifying, and a rage filled snarl ripped from my throat, echoing in the metal elevator shaft around us. I was glad we were alone.
I know, Archie sympathized, It was hard for me to watch too.
Joss had filmed every minute of the horrible near-homicide. There were several empty minutes of track at the beginning, filming the empty dance studio. But she had gotten everything on tape—from the moment Beau stepped courageously, fearlessly, into the long room, to her taunting me through the lens of the camera, knowing how it would afflict me, to every atrocious moment of the torture she'd inflicted on Beau.
And he'd been undeniably strong and noble and courageous through the whole thing. He had not wavered, had not begged for mercy. He'd willingly walked into the tracker's trap, sacrificing himself for the sake of his mother—a trick she'd played on all of us by employment of their old home videos—and had even pleaded with me not to avenge his death.
But if I could, I would bring that tracker back to life so I could destroy her a thousand times over for myself. I had never known a lust for murder so strong—ever.
And a painful plight for Archie—the story of his origin. He'd been born into a wonderful family under the name of Mario Archibald Brandon. The first part of his life had most likely been wonderful, but then his family discovered his gift, which they saw only as a brand of the devil, a curse. A horrible family scandal, through which Archie saw the truth, and then he'd been thrown into an asylum as punishment.
The occurrences of what had taken place in that asylum were left entirely to the imagination, but Archie felt he must have been isolated in the dark for a very long time, maybe from the time he was a child; or he'd been treated with repeated doses of electroshock therapy—which was a more viable likelihood, as this procedure had been very popular in the era of his change. Depending on the frequency of the treatments, this would have effectively erased all of his human memories, which would explain much.
According to Joss, an old vampire had befriended Archie, working at the institution at the time, and had taken the best course of action she knew how when Joss set her sights on his sweet-smelling blood. She'd changed him before Joss could procure her prize, and she'd destroyed Archie's creator as revenge.
The story was truly ghastly, but if I knew anything about my favorite brother, he would take what positives he could find from the story. He would not dwell on the horrible parts; somehow, he would find a way to twist his horrible past to make something good of the future. That was just Archie. It was what he did.
And truly, even now, as we disembarked the elevator on the main floor, he did not hold a hint of depression, mortification or anger in the set of his shoulders. He strode gaily alongside me down the long hallway, just as he'd always done.
At least I have a new hobby, he thought. Genealogy is worth a shot, now that I know so much.
.
Charlie was unable to leave work to come visit Beau at the hospital. He felt horrible about it, but Renee assured him that she was here, and she would keep enough vigil for the both of them.
"Besides," she murmured into the cell phone, "Edythe won't leave his side for more than ten minutes. She's doing a better job than the both of us could, combined."
Because I had my face turned away from her, I allowed myself to smirk.
When Renee had updated Phil, she returned to her seat on the other side of the bed and took Beau's other hand in hers.
"He's very lucky," Renee murmured, her eyes on her sleeping child's face, "To be surrounded by two women who love him."
"Yes," I responded quietly, "He is."
She glanced at me, startled when I did not deny her assumption. "Tell me," she requested after a contemplative moment. Her mind was not as clear to me as typical humans', about the same as Charlie's, if slightly more abridged. The combination made Beau's impenetrable mind slightly more justified. However, no less frustrating. "Tell me everything that happened."
I sighed, leaning the tuck the blankets back in around his feet, very careful not to disturb his broken tibia.
"We went to play baseball with my family, Friday evening," I began, recalling Archie's cover story with perfect clarity, "And as was wont to happen, we got to talking—about the future, about our hopes and dreams. We got into an argument about something; I can't remember what it was now." Renee's brow crinkled, and her thoughts were confused. She didn't know Beau to be confrontational. I shrugged. "He was upset. He made the decision to leave rather abruptly, and it concerned me. He wouldn't answer his phone, he hadn't told Charlie very much, and so I convinced my mother to bring me to Phoenix, so I could talk to him—to try and convince him to reconsider, and return home with us…"
"It isn't like Beau to run off like that… He's… Tough. If he believes in something strongly enough, he finds a way to see it through."
"Yes," I agreed, and the icy memory of his trickery dropped into my stomach. "He knows what he wants, and he's not afraid to go after it." I flinched internally at the flare of intuition that rose up in the back of my mind. "However uncharacteristic," I continued, folding my hands around Beau's again and leaning close to the bedside, my eyes on his face, "He was afraid. Everybody gets that way sometimes… I truly think that was all there was to it… And I didn't want him making permanent decisions as a result of the fleeting fear. Like you said—it's not like Beau to run off. I suspected as much, and I was hoping, if I could only speak with him, I could convince him to change his mind… I couldn't stand the thought of him leaving me…" By the time I finished, my words had faded to a strained whisper.
Though I did not take my eyes off of Beau's unaware face, I could sense Renee watching me. Her thoughts were like the coming and going of the ocean waves. With each tide, a new revelation pulled in with it. Her mental faculties flowed from confusion, to wondering, to understanding, to fascination, to possession, to acceptance, to awe, to joy…
She was beginning to suspect the strength of my feelings for her son, and much like Earnest, she was very happy that her son had finally found a niche he belonged in after all these years. Renee was a hopeless romantic, a strong believer in all things impossible, and she was abruptly caught up in our whirlwind love story.
She could not begin to understand the true depth of my feelings for Beau, but she was beginning to glimpse the surface.
"He… Means very much to you, doesn't he?" she murmured after a long moment.
I looked up from Beau's face, finding her eyes studying me. They were open and understanding and empathetic.
"Truly, he means the world to me."
She smiled very softly, and reached across the bed to take my hand. Again, she did not flinch back from the cool temperature of my skin.
"If there's one thing I know about Beau, it's that he doesn't take his decisions lightly. He puts all his heart into something, he invests all of his being—if he cares for you in the same way as you obviously do for him, there is nothing the two of you won't be able to surmount."
For one very brief moment, I wondered if Renee understood more than she ought to. But I knew that was impossible.
"Thank you," I whispered to her, wishing the eventuality of our introduction could have taken place under different circumstances.
Over the course of the next day, the doctors began to wean Beau off of his sedation. They told Renee and Carine that he would still be in a fair amount of pain, but that his wounds had progressed sufficiently enough in their healing, that he would be able to cope. But they wanted to wake him to check in on him. There were negative merits to leaving a human under sedation for too long.
As they'd gradually lifted the layers of drug-induced haze, they extubated him and switched him over to simple oxygen—satisfied that he would be able to breathe on his own again.
I waited in anticipation for the moment when I would see his eyes once more.
It didn't happen until the following morning, after Renee went down to the cafeteria to get some breakfast—Archie had delivered an empty coffee mug and a crinkled pastry bag early in the morning while she slept, so I would be covered.
It'll be this morning, he told me on the way out, Oh—and let him come to his own conclusions, will you?
I wasn't able to ask him what he meant by that, as he'd exited the room.
It was a few hours later when Renee excused herself to grab a coffee and some breakfast, after coming to the conclusion that I'd already eaten.
I sat by the bed, humming softly to my love, just waiting for the inevitable. Selfishly, I hoped he would wake while his mother was gone, so we would have a few minutes to ourselves before I would have to share his attentions. It would be understandable for him to not remember a lot of what happened, but if he was anxious about it, he would benefit from being made aware of our cover story.
It happened so briefly, part of me wondered if I missed it. His eyelids fluttered open once, and then clamped back shut. I straightened in my chair, eyes fixed on his changing expression.
"Beau?" I mouthed, the word escaping without sound.
He blinked a couple times more, and then finally, finally, I saw his eyes. Brighter than I remembered, and swimming with haziness, but sudden joy filled my heart when I saw his ocean-blue gaze.
I sat so still that he didn't see me at first. I watched him take in his condition—the clear tubes, and wires. His hand lifted from where it rested at his side, groping at his face. His fingers hooked on the cannula, and I reached forward to wrap the fingers from both my hands around his wrist.
"Oh no you don't," I chided softly, pulling his hand away from his face.
"Edythe?" he murmured roughly, bleary eyes wheeling until he finally found my face. I had my chin resting on the edge of his pillow, and when he found me, I offered him a tiny, overjoyed smile. "Oh. Hey," he said.
"Hi," I whispered, and suddenly, I felt wary. Once he surfaced enough from the pharmaceutical delirium, he was sure to be angry with me—I was sure to face his ire. I wondered if he would ask me to leave; I wondered if he would want to move back to Florida with his mother… It was only suitable, seeing the amount of peril I'd put him in…
"What… happened?"
In the face of his foggy perplexity, the black shade of agony dropped over me again, and it all came flooding back with perfect clarity. Of course, vampires had flawless recall, and so I would not forget the horrors of what had occurred over the last week. Fury took such a stronghold inside me that it felt like a tight fist around my windpipe.
"I was so close to being too late," I whispered, my voice tight with self-castigation. "I could have been too late."
"Hey," he mumbled soothingly, "It's okay now. I'm… well, my head is spinning because what just happened was crazy and I'm… Here, in a hospital bed, with a lot of injuries, I'm guessing, but… I'm also good, Edythe. I'm always good when I'm with you." He started to lift his hand, but then stopped and glanced down. "Ugh." He shuddered.
"What is it?" I asked him anxiously. Was he in pain? Did he feel sick?
"Nothing," he protested, shaking his head, "I'm fine. It's just… I'm not a fan of needles."
That was all? I could not stop myself from rolling my eyes at the absurdity. Of all the things he could be upset or horrified over…
"Hey—" he suddenly blurted, and lurched as if to sit up. "I need to call Charlie and my mom." His eyes unfocused dizzily, and I gently pushed on his chest, forcing him back into the pillows.
"You need to rest," I insisted. "And Archie called your parents. Renee is here—well, here in the hospital. She's getting something to eat right now. She'll be back soon."
Which gave him an agenda now, to say to me what he needed to say. But he seemed in no hurry to begin the scourging. I watched anxiously as he took a few deep breaths, staring up at the ceiling. I thought I saw him wince, but the expression faded from his face so quickly I couldn't be sure. Was he hurting?
"So what's the story?" he finally inquired, turning his eyes back to my face.
I hesitated for just a moment. Where was the horror, the fury, the betrayal? Where was the shouting and the rejection and the real breakup? Surely, he would not want to spend another minute with me. Maybe he wanted to get the backstory out of the way first?
"You fell down two flights of stairs and through a window," I finally told him.
He blew air out through pursed lips, considering this. Then he flinched, and I stiffened. He was in pain!
"How bad am I?" he wondered.
The tallying of his injuries caused me physical pain, but he had a right to know. "You have a broken arm. You have four broken ribs, two punctured lungs, one more severe than the other—something you needed surgery for; a broken leg—in three places, a lacerated shoulder, severely lacerated scalp, and some cracks in your skull."
"Yikes," he said.
"To say the least."
A long, quiet moment passed between us. I kept my eyes fixed on his.
Finally, he breathed very softly, "How did you do it?"
I knew what he was referring to immediately. Very gently, I lifted his gauze wrapped right hand from the sheets and cradled it in both of my mine. "I don't know," I murmured. I pulled his hand to my face, reveling in the warmth his blanketed skin refracted onto my skin, and closed my eyes, inclining my head very softly against his knuckles. I sighed heavily, and then forced myself to meet his imploring gaze, ashamed and vulnerable. "It was impossible… To stop," I breathed, "Impossible. But I did… I must love you…" By whatever mercy the gods above held for me, they'd given me the strength to pull away from the succulent source of his lifeblood. I honestly could not fathom how I'd managed it.
"What happened to Joss?" he mumbled.
Abruptly, the shame and guilt was burned away by the blistering flames of fury. "I got there ahead of the others because, of course, I'm faster. She was just about to… Finish you off…" Despite knowing he was here and healing and alive, it was harder than I would have suspected to utter the words. "I pulled her off of you. Eleanor and Jessamine came in then, and they took care of her." I lifted my eyes to his again. "I'm so sorry, Beau… So sorry for what I've done to you, what I've caused to happen…"
I braced myself for the certainty of his next words, but all he said after a long moment was, "What?"
It took me a very long moment to process the singularly spoken word. The impossibility of all of this was so entirely overwhelming. He wasn't reacting in the way I thought he would have—under completely acceptable sanctions, by the way. How was it possible that he was not angry with me? My mind twisted and whirled as everything shifted and warbled. Was it possible that he was not angry… That he did not resent me for what I'd done to him…? I couldn't quite make myself trust it.
"Edythe, I'm good," he said now, "I told you that."
"You're not… angry with me? For what I've done to you?"
"Done to me? Edythe, you saved my life! Again. Why would I be angry?"
Why would he be angry? He was acting like the circumstances that had led to his near-death had been completely unavoidable! Of course they hadn't been! There had been a million other options. For one, I could have been stronger. I had let my weakness rule too many times. I could have left that first day and never turned back—there had been opportunities enough! I should have turned my back on him the minute that first near-blunder had occurred! I never should have taken him to the meadow. I never should have kissed him. I never should have stayed the night—or any of the nights before that, for that matter—I never should have taken him to meet my family, never should have told him our stories and lore, and I never should have taken him to that damned baseball game! I never should have separated myself from him, when I'd known it was the blackest kind of wrong, but I never would have needed to guard his life like that if I'd never come back that first day…
A frustrated huff of breath escaped my mouth. "How can you…? Beau you have to see that this is my entire fault. Your life could have ended so easily, so tragically, because of me. Because I let it happen. If I hadn't brought you into all of this… If I had kept you safe… If I hadn't involved you in my world—"
His soft, broken hand settled over my lips, knuckles first.
"Edythe—if you hadn't involved me in your world, Charlie and Renee would have lost me three months ago."
I only stared at him, scowling. That absolutely was not a sure thing. It was very likely that he would have been hurt, but it was also very likely that the hospital staff would have treated him very capably, and he would have gone on to make a full recovery. What was a sure thing, was that if I had been there in the parking lot—and had come back when I shouldn't have after that first day—and I had stood by and allowed the accident to happen, there was absolutely no doubt that I would have thoroughly destroyed any chance of survival he might have had.
Why couldn't he see that I had done everything wrong? I had taken so much from him! How could he not see that because of me, he'd nearly died?
Just then, Renee's thoughtful introspection broke through my mental clarity.
She was rushing back to his room, concerned and anxious.
Oh, I hope he's not awake yet. He'll think I'm a horrible mother if I wasn't there when he woke up… The doctor said he probably won't come around until mid-day or so, but…
"I think I hear your mother."
"Don't go." His voice broke, and I saw the irrational surge of panic tear through his wide, clear eyes.
His anxiety threw me for a moment, and I hesitated. Did he really want me to stay? Could it be true?
"I won't," I promised him now, and leaned forward to press my lips to his cheek. "I'll take a nap." I paused, cheek hovering an inch from his, when the monitor jumped around spastically. Hmm…
Unbidden pleasure rose inside me. Supposedly, not much had changed… Could I bring myself to believe it?
"That's going to be embarrassing," he grumbled.
I gazed at him a moment, arcing an eyebrow. "Hmm… I wonder…"
I leaned in again, intent on testing my theories about this fun new game. Before my lips touched his, I heard the heart monitor begin to jump around frenetically. And then, very, very softly, I pressed my mouth to his. The beeping quit altogether, rather abruptly, and I jerked back, disconcerted. The terror quickly faded when the beeping began again with barely a pause.
I narrowed my eyes at him. "It seems I'm going to have to be more careful with you than usual."
Renee was just outside the door now, arguing with a nurse about how they ought to have better sleeping arrangements for loved ones. Her night spent in the turquoise lounge chair had left her with a cricked neck and a throbbing headache. Finished with her short tirade, she turned and put her hand on the doorknob.
I darted to the aforementioned recliner at the foot of the bed, and leaned it all the way back, letting my eyelids fall shut.
"Breathe, Edythe," Beau muttered sarcastically from the bed.
I took an exaggerated breath, unable to stop the grin which stretched itself across my face. However, I managed to compose myself when the door cracked open.
"Mom!" I heard Beau whisper emphatically.
Oh! He's awake! I shouldn't have left! "Beau!" she squeaked, and rushed across the room, fully intent on throwing her arms around her son's shoulders before she remembered how badly injured he was. She paused at the bedside, and then very carefully leaned forward, hands barely touching his upper arms—one of them casted and secured with a sling—landing a kiss on his hairline.
"Oh, Beau—I'm so glad you're awake!" Emotion choked her.
"Mom—don't cry," Beau mumbled. "I'm okay."
Of course he's not okay! He's being so brave—he must be in a world of pain! "Oh, honey," she whispered, perching on the edge of his mattress, "I was so worried."
"Don't worry, I'm okay now," he insisted.
Renee reached out and very tenderly stroked his cheek. "It's so good to see your eyes open again, sweetheart."
"How long have I been out?" he wanted to know.
"It's Friday, hon," she informed him, "You've been out for three days. You had a lot of injuries. They had to keep you out for awhile… You're lucky Dr. Cullen was there. She's a very nice woman."
"You met Carine?"
"And Edythe's brother, Archie. He's a nice boy."
"Yeah," Beau agreed, "He's a good guy."
Renee's thoughts and gaze flickered over to where I was 'sleeping' in the chair. "She never leaves, does she?" she whispered conspiratorially. She could see just how ardent my feelings for her son were, but she was also skeptical and concerned for the very same reasons. She remembered just how fantastical and hasty her own relationship with Charlie had been, and she didn't want Beau to wind up hurt and alone the way she had—at least for awhile. "You didn't tell me you'd made such good friends in Forks." She couldn't quite keep the dejection out of her voice.
Through her eyes I saw Beau shrug, and then wince. A smothered moan slipped through his lips.
I stiffened, my eyes flying open upon their own accord.
"What hurts?" Renee demanded, her hands hovering uselessly over his battered body.
He shook his head, his eyes flicking past his mother to lock on mine for half a second. "I'm good," he told us, "I just… Have to remember not to move… Where's Phil?"
I knew this tactic. He was trying to divert the attention away from himself.
"Florida—oh, Beau! You'll never guess! Just when we were about to leave, the best news!"
"Phil got signed?" he guessed.
"Yes!" she gushed, "How did you guess! The Suns, can you believe it?" And then her words flowed so quickly they bled together and overlapped. Her thoughts were a whirlwind as well; she was getting ahead of herself—or at least, I hoped she was. "You'll like Jacksonville so much, honey. I was a little bit worried when Phil started talking about Akron, what with the snow and everything, because you know how I hate the cold, but now Jacksonville! It's sunny every day, and the humidity really isn't that bad. We found the most adorable little yellow house, with a porch just like in an old movie—we can sit out there and drink iced tea in the evenings, and watch the sunset… There's this huge oak tree in the front yard, and it's just a few minutes' walk from the beach…"
"Wait, wait," Beau interrupted, struggling to keep up with his mother's erratic enthusiasm. "Mom—I live in Forks."
Confusion passed first through Renee's thoughts, and then disappointment, followed swiftly by understanding. "Does it have something to do with that girl?" Her tone was only slightly accusing.
Through Renee's eyes, I watched Beau hesitate, and then he sighed. "Yeah, she kinda does," he admitted.
Renee appraised her son's face for a long moment. "I think we need to talk about that."
"Uh… Okay?"
She leaned in confidentially and lowered her voice. "I think that girl is in love with you," she murmured.
"I think so, too," Beau said.
"And how do you feel about her?" she demanded, her thoughts surprisingly parental. Intermixed with her childlike whims and perspectives on the world, it sounded strange. "I hope you're not intending to string her along. She's such a nice girl—smart, too—and very pretty."
I waited anxiously for his answer.
"No stringing intended," Beau assured her, "And… Well… I'm pretty crazy about her, too."
I wasn't sure what I thought about that response.
Renee contemplated this. Her thoughts were suspicious.
I know that look, she pondered, He's not telling me the whole story. I think his feelings go a lot deeper than that—but goodness, he's only seventeen! Just yesterday I was changing his diapers and dropping him off at kindergarten!
"She's a lovely girl, Beau," she told him now, "But goodness, you're both so young!"
"We're both seventeen, Mom," Beau protested, "We're not that young. I'll be eighteen in September."
Renee nodded distractedly, remembering just how sure of herself she'd been at Beau's age—how much of the world she thought she'd known, so confident in all of her ways… She knew that her own parents' advice and admonishments had fallen on deaf ears, and she suspected hers would only do the same now, on Beau's.
"Oh," she murmured, glancing worriedly over her shoulder at the clock on the wall. She'd just recalled that Phil was due to call the house in half an hour, and the drive back to Scottsdale from the hospital was at least twenty-five minutes.
"Somewhere you need to be?" Beau teased her, as if this had happened fairly often while he'd still lived at home.
"Phil's supposed to call in a little while… I didn't know you were going to wake up…" Guilt and embarrassment flooded her thoughts. For all her impulsive, full-hearted ways of observing life, she was surprisingly self-critical of herself as a mother.
"No problem, Mom. You go. I'll be fine."
She hesitated a moment longer, and then ducked in to kiss his cheek. "I'll be back soon," she promised, and with one more glance thrown my way, she headed for the door.
As soon as she rounded the doorjamb, I took her place in the hard plastic chair by the bed, picking up Beau's hand again. Even through the layers of gauze, his skin was very warm.
"How was your nap?" he asked me, his tone heavy with mockery.
"Pleasant." I attempted to suppress a smirk. And then I thought of something, and my amusement instantly plummeted. "I have to admit, I'm surprised. I thought Florida… and your mother… well, I thought that's what you would want."
He stared at me for a long second. "But that wouldn't make any sense," he murmured uncomprehendingly, "You'd have to stay inside all day. Like a real vampire." He half-smiled, arcing an eyebrow. The humor didn't touch me. It was necessary that I give him this option—this option that he really should take…
"I would stay in Forks, Beau," I murmured softly, watching his face intently for any sign of distress, "Or somewhere like it, at least. Someplace where… Where I wouldn't be able to hurt you anymore."
I watched as the emotions made themselves clear across his face—confusion gave way to surprise and understanding, and then anxiety and panic. His breathing rate crept toward concerning proportions, and his heart rate sped.
I waited for him to speak.
A nurse bustled into the room then to check on Beau's equipment. She appraised his expression, which she mistook as discomfort instead of anxiety.
"Time for more pain meds, hon?" she asked him, tapping the IV feed.
"No, I'm fine," he insisted, seemingly unable to tear his anxious gaze from my face.
"Are you sure? There's no need to play tough guy. It's better to keep on top of the pain, so it doesn't get away from you."
"I'm sure," he muttered.
"Alright," she relented, the skepticism heavy. "Hit the call button when you're ready."
When the nurse was gone, I reached up to hold his face between my hands, palms just under the edge of his jaw. "Calm down, Beau—or I'll have to call the nurse back in to sedate you."
"Don't leave," he supplicated, eyes wild with blue fire, heart still pounding.
"Beau," I crooned, stroking his face from temple to jaw, "Beau, I'm not going to leave you."
"Do you swear?" he gasped.
I leaned my face closer to his, staring deeply into his chaotic eyes. "I swear," I promised him, "I'm not going anywhere."
Gradually, as I held his face in my hands, the wildfire in his eyes faded, and his breathing and heart rates slowed.
I exhaled softly in relief. "Better?"
He paused, and then nodded carefully.
"Why did you say that?" He was calmer, but still disconcerted. "Are you sick of having to save me all the time, or something?"
"Of course not," I argued, widening my eyes, "I don't mind saving you—when it's not me putting you in danger in the first place. But more and more often, that seems to be the case…" Self-loathing washed over me.
"Hey," he interrupted, "We've been over this. You're the reason I'm alive."
I stared at his gauze-covered hand, where the bite bark and the gash I'd made to re-open the wound lay hidden. Though I clawed at any semblance of the presence, I felt myself being pulled backward, back to the blackness of that ghastly day.
"The worst part," I breathed as the shame rose high above my head, pulling me under, "wasn't watching what that monster did to you—it wasn't seeing you there on the floor… crumpled and broken and hurting." My voice hitched. "Nor was it wondering if I was too late, or hearing you scream in agony… It wasn't knowing that I'll carry those horrible memories with me for the rest of eternity… No—the worst part was believing that I would be the one to kill you, after all… Because I truly did not think I could stop." My voice sounded raw by the end of the sentence.
"But you didn't," he said, his voice hard with confidence.
"But I could have," I breathed, "So easily."
He put his thickly padded, loosely fisted hand under my chin, pulling gently. I knew what he wanted, and could not refuse his gesture. I lifted my castigated, shameful eyes to his.
"Hey," he murmured, "Promise me something."
"What?" I breathed. I would guarantee him almost anything if there was a chance it would redeem what I'd done to him.
"That we'll… We'll stick together from now on—for good."
I sighed. "Don't worry—you'll get your way… Whether it kills you or not." I murmured the last part at a lower volume, hoping he hadn't caught that part.
He was quiet for another moment. The only sound in the room was the steady beeping of his heart on the monitor, and his breathing.
"One more thing."
I looked up at him.
"Why?" he asked, "You told me how you stopped… But why? If you hadn't done anything, I mean, the venom would have spread… And I would have been just like you by now, right?"
I froze with shock. How much had Archie told him? I was abruptly very , very angry with my brother. I felt too angry to form coherent thought, let alone speak sage and calm thoughts to Beau. So I just stared at him.
"I mean," he continued when I didn't reply, "There has to be some rule out there that says couples have to be equal, or whatever. Sometimes, I wish I could… y'know, play Superman sometimes… protect you, save you, too."
The anger with my brother abruptly faded, and I leaned forward in my seat, laying the tip of my finger on his chin.
"You have saved me." How could he be so entirely unaware of the ways he'd changed me? I was not the same girl I used to be. He'd given my life meaning and purpose. He was what I lived for now—the sun my entire universe revolved around. "But you don't know what you're asking," I hurried on. "I've had almost ninety years to consider it, and I'm still not sure."
His eyes softened. "Do you wish that Carine hadn't saved you?"
"No," I had to admit in a whisper, and I felt my brows pull together. "But… My life was over. I wasn't sacrificing anything…" I shook my head quickly. "I can't do it, Beau. I won't do that to you. You have too much to lose." My voice had turned wheedling—I pleaded with him to understand.
He'd almost lost everything—why was he not jumping at the opportunity to take hold of his humanity once more?
But he shook his head, the blue in his irises taking on a metallic edge. "I can handle it."
"The venom?" I gave him a hard look, trying not to flinch at the memory of his agony.
His chin jutted, just slightly. "That's my problem."
I narrowed my eyes at him. "You know, it's possible to take bravery to the point where it becomes insanity."
He leveled his gaze at me, stubbornly.
"Charlie?" I demanded, "Renee?"
This struck a nerve, though he reigned in his expression quickly. "I'll live."
"That's just it!" I protested, "You won't!"
He stared at me for a long moment. "Archie saw something, didn't he?" he finally guessed.
A very quiet and frustrated growl vibrated in my throat. "I think it's time for more pain killers," I said, and leaned forward to press the call button.
"How can I help you?" the voice on the other end squawked.
"I think we're ready for more pain medication," I said into the speaker calmly, ignoring Beau's futile glare.
"I'll send in his nurse."
"Thank you." I turned my eyes back on Beau's demanding expression. "Archie sees possibilities—things that might happen. He also saw me kill you, but that obviously didn't happen. Because I didn't let it." My words came out with more passion than I had realized.
The nurse entered with a syringe then, and I leaned back in my seat.
"Excuse me," she told me primly.
I got up and retreated to the end of the bed, keeping my eyes on Beau's face. He stared at me as the nurse injected the medication into his IV tube.
"There you go, honey," the nurse said to him kindly, "That'll help you feel better."
"Thanks," he muttered to her, eyes leveled on mine.
It didn't take very long for the drugs to take affect. As soon as the nurse left the room, his eyelids drooped sleepily.
Relief coursed through me, selfishly. This conversation was over—at least for today.
I went to his side again, and brushed my fingers softly over his cheekbone, as his head drooped sideways on the pillow behind his head.
"Stay," he slurred.
"I will," I promised him, touching my cheek to his, "As long as it keeps you safe."
"Mmm," he mumbled, quickly fading, "S'not the same…"
I giggled softly. "Let's talk about that later. You sleep."
"Edythe?" I could barely discern the sound of my name on his thick, drug-laden tongue. I was surprised he was still speaking. His body was totally limp, eyelids shut.
"Yes?" I murmured softly.
"I'm betting on Archie."
I rolled my eyes. "Of course you are."
But he didn't hear me. He was already under.
…
A/N: I have so much in store for Edythe and Renee's relationship—it was fun to write them together. It seemed in Twilight that Renee was a little wary about Edward, but there are a lot of things that change when gender swapping a character, and I really felt that Renee would have a lot more sympathy for Edythe than she did for Edward. I love the notion that their bond would have began here—while they waited for the boy they both loved more than life to wake.
My plan is for Renee to play a much bigger role in this version—mostly in Eclipse and Breaking Dawn (which I have yet to name from Edythe's POV). But you'll see ;)
If you have time, please leave a review :) xo
Next is the epilogue, and then we'll move on to Darkest Hour! Who's excited?! (mememe!)