the outtakes
memory
(part two)
Yesterday's just a memory, tomorrow is never what it's supposed to be.
- Bob Dylan
o.o.o
NOVEMBER
o.o.o
"I know something you don't know," Alice sing-songs as she dances into his bedroom that is auspiciously and decidedly lacking an actual bed. It wasn't as if he had any use for one. He did, however, have use for a rather comfortable black leather couch, which is where Alice decides to daintily perch herself, positively vibrating with contained energy - or contained secrets, as it were.
Edward sighs, casting his eyes heaven word. Was it a good thing that Alice was particularly skilled in filling her mind with senseless drabble to keep him out of her thoughts and thus able to keep secrets? Maybe. But it also led to situations like this where Alice had the advantage of information and was determined to swing it over his head, as if he is a rabbit and she is holding the carrot.
Infuriating, manic, psychic pixie.
"And what is it that you think you know?"
Alice smiles enigmatically.
"Am I supposed to guess?" he asks warily.
"I'm hoping you will."
"You know I hate this game. Why can't you just tell me?"
"Trust me, it's more fun this way."
No, Alice, it's really not.
He heaves a sigh, dropping his head to rest against the back of the couch. "Alright. Does it have to do with the family?"
"Warm."
"Has Emmett decided to plan another ill-advised hunting tournament?"
It was not ill-advised and you're just bitter that you lost, Eddie-boy!
"Colder."
He eyes Alice speculatively. "Am I somehow directly involved?"
"Warmer," she grins.
Unconsciously, he sits up straight, hyperfocused, all traces of bad humor gone. "It's about Bella," he says, a swoop in his stomach immediately following the mere mention of her name. When Alice nods excitedly, Edward can only take a breath, unable to escape the feeling that he is about to dive head-first off a high cliff - the anticipation is so great. "Has she - I mean - is it that she's decided to accept - well, to pursue -"
"You're totally going to be mates!" Alice squeals, jumping up to shimmy around the room with bright eyes and an even brighter smile. "The future has cleared up - it's like crystal, Edward, and that girl has unmistakably made the choice to be with you! No going back! I can't see any other alternatives!"
(If it were possible, he's certain that his cheeks would hurt with the force of his prolonged, elated smile.)
o.o.o
o.o.o
Unceremoniously, The Peninsula Daily News has been shoved against his chest by his rather irate human mate, who after proclaiming that the men who had attacked her were dead had stared at him - and his siblings - with clear, uncompromised accusation. She thinks they have killed these men, taken them out of the fair vengeance of the human justice system and exacted the type of revenge that was admittedly most appropriate for those kind of monsters.
And her assumption might be right were she to judge guilt by Rosalie's satisfaction at hearing this news. However -
"Bella, this wasn't us," he says beseechingly, a quiet plea for her to understand, to calm down and listen to him-
"You're vampires," she whispers waspishly. "And those guys were drained of blood."
Yes, that did seem highly suspect, did it not? In fact, even to his keen eye, the news article does scream blatantly of supernatural death - especially in the circumstances around the leader of that awful night, the serial-rapist named Lonnie, whose throat had been ripped clean open, the arterial vein sliced so precisely that it isn't at all difficult for Edward to imagine that these deaths had been caused by vampires. Clever girl had read the signs just right - but she was pointing her finger in the wrong direction.
Edward allows the newspaper to fall to the ground as he places ever-gentle hands on the top of her diminutive shoulders, bending his knees and stooping just low enough that they are nearly the same height. She does not flinch, but nor does she seem to graciously welcome his touch. If anything, she seems to be studying him very carefully. And for that reason, he does his best to ensure that his voice is as non-threatening as possible. "We don't drink human blood. Bella, please. Believe me."
Her lips tremble as she petitions, "If not you, then who? Edward, who would have done this?"
Who, indeed?
Off the top of his head, he can only think of one suspect - as after all, running into strange vampires wasn't exactly common in established territories and the Cullens ran enough patrols in the surrounding square hundred miles that they would have caught wind if a different vampire had been in the area. "The one who called your name," he suggests carefully, much to the grief of his siblings. If there is a vampire out there who is aware of Bella and running around killing humans - even humans who deserved it - then that was something of a major issue that they would all need to talk about later. And if they would be talking about it, then it only stood to reason that Bella would be involved in the discussion; and if Bella were involved, then she couldn't afford to be in the dark about anything. "There is so much that you need to know. Have lunch with us."
She agrees - much to his fervent relief - and then she does something he does not expect. She initiates skin contact and as the first time she has truly touched him since that terrible night in Port Angeles and it is like everything he's ever wanted -
(And now she knows everything, all the secrets that he - that the family - has ever kept. How they were turned. What life as a vampire is like. Their abilities -
And of course, she doesn't care that she's being hunted by a vampire savvy enough to stay out of his mental range, which meant that whoever this female vampire was, she knew about the Cullens, about Edward in particular, and that didn't bode well for his ability to keep her safe -
"Bella, you're in danger," he says incredulously.
"Am I really, though? Even if she comes closes, I'm not completely helpless," she replies, pointedly wiggling her fingers.
And that is - that is something that he will have to learn to reconcile. That this girl may be his mate, but she is not nearly half as helpless as her bird-bone lightness would indicate, that she is not the simpering incarnation of the girls who he might have courted when he was human, that she is modern and smart and not to be trifled with…)
o.o.o
o.o.o
It is by accident - ill-fated accident, in fact - that she catches sight of him perched outside of her bedroom window, guarding her with a steadfast ear to the forest around him, all of his senses stretched on a taut wire. It is a peculiar kind of test to his control of the budding lust that has woken in him for the first time in a hundred years, to listen to her patter through her evening routine, to catch the muted whiff of the steamy intensity of her shampoo and soap, to catch a glimpse of the rounded curve of her shoulder joint as her cotton nightdress - more shirt than dress, actually, and distressingly thin - slips wide around her slender neck -
As she is massaging lotion onto her hands and elbows, she stops in front of the window and stops rather abruptly, expression vacillating between shock and mortification and irritation before settling into a sort of wry amusement. Never dropping her gaze from his, she opens the window and whispers, "Do we need to have a conversation about stalking?"
He swallows. He's been caught. He knows that he's doing something - well, strange at best and outright criminal at worst and she is so unpredictable that he can't rightly decide if she will be angered by his gall, or if she will understand his motivations -
She sighs and the wind catches her scent, carrying it to him so that venom can well richly behind his teeth. "I can tell that I won't be talking you out of this," she mutters finally.
He can only shake his head. Anything else and he might not retain the willpower to stay in this godforsaken tree.
"Go home if it starts raining," she commands - and then blithely closes her window, finishes her nightly routine, and settles in for sleep -
And he can only gape for a long while, torn between relief and disbelief that she would so readily accept his presence watching over her while she slept.
(It will not be the last time that he is granted this permission.)
o.o.o
o.o.o
If there is one remnant of his human life that he has kept close to his being for the entirety of his new vampiric life - if there is a single memory that does not taunt him with the bitter rinds that followed him from dying of the Spanish Influenza and into this eternal night - it is his love of winter. As a vampire, the icy chill of the shortest days of the year is not something that affects him; he does not feel the nip of frost on his toes through his boots and woolen socks; he does not shiver at the bite of snow blanketing his skin; he barely even registers that the ambient temperature is for once colder than himself. But even as a human, he had been enthralled by winter, by the promise of the jolly holiday season and the tease of snowy days that kept him from school and instead in his father's study or at his mother's skirts. And as a native of Chicago, winter had always been a brutal, hard-ridden time - yet it still did not matter. Not to Edward Masen.
And not to Edward Cullen.
The day dawns with a thin glancing of early frost coating the grass, the trees, the road. Miniscule icicles dangle from the edges of building, small like pearls and catching the dawning sun behind the thick cloudcover with a mercury sheen. It is not thick snow, certainly not the kind of snow that would stay for longer than a day as the warmer crust of the Earth fought tenaciously against the oncoming winter - and indeed it does melt overnight, leaving a glistening layer of ice in its wake.
Edward is content - until he is not.
As has become routine, he arrives to Forks High well before his mate, who still walks to school by the virtue that he is leery of proposing he drive her each day - even he is not obtuse enough as to assume that would not be a slight to her independence, and so he stays his tongue. She seems to enjoy walking, anyway, and sticks to a very specific routine.
He sees her first. He'd been looking, of course, and she is - predictably - taking an unfettered pace toward the school, thermos in one hand and book in the other. Her nose and cheeks are pink from the chill as she weaves through rows of cars rather than braving the sidewalk and the vigorous snowball fight that was still being waged from the previous day.
"You should probably blink," Rosalie says dryly.
He shoots his sister a droll look, taking her meaning with a healthy grain of salt - but she is right. He forgets himself when he looks at Bella, forgets that he needs to be playing a part, not just for himself but for the entire family. Bella is all-consuming, though. He can hardly be blamed -
And then two things happen that, had Edward possessed a heart that was actually functioning rather than perpetually frozen, it is conceivable said heart would have seized painfully inside the cavern of his chest - a pure, utterly unadulterated sense of dread.
Bella Swan drops her book, As I Lay Dying -
(Horribly, horribly ironic.)
- and not a moment later, tires skid across a blank of black ice, thin, uncooperative metal breaks squealing and shrieking ineffectually as the driver - one of the Crowley boys - promptly and catastrophically loses control of the car that is headed right toward her -
Bella freezes for the barest second, and then the deep, flecked, sharp moss of her eyes rise to look at Edward -
Alice's mind is spinning, cycling, circling over vision over vision - past and present and future all blurring into one barely comprehensible mass of -
Bella Swan, laid out perfectly on the icy concrete, book still in hand and…her chest still -
Edward, inconsolable, taking himself to the Volturi for some kind of absolution -
Dead. She would die -
But only if he let it happen -
And by God he would not let that happen.
Bella closes her eyes. She does not squeeze them shut in terror and she does not turn her head. She simply closes her eyes, as if she were about to go to sleep, and before Edward even realizes he's moving - quite the feat for a vampire, who is always, always aware of his movements, even before they happen - he has crossed the width of parking lot that divides them, intent on exactly one heart -
Vaguely, he registers that Emmett has lunged after him, but this fact is swiftly blocked out in favor of pushing his body forward faster than he had ever dared before -
He cages his arms around his too-fragile, too-human mate, twisting to the side and launching them both as far away as possible; they crash against the concrete, Edward's shoulder digging into ice and newly-created gravel and then indenting a tan car that braced his sudden stop, just a hair of a second before broken glass shatters around them - courtesy of Emmett bodily stopping the SUV in its tracks before bounding away -
Bella's forehead smashes against the unforgiving firmness of his chest -
He is growling, inhaling deeply, searching for injuries that he cannot find - though that does little to sooth the raging instincts ticking in the back of his head -
He hardly notices that Bella is touching him, a single palm pressed to the base of his neck -
Because for the first time - perhaps because it had taken this atrocious event to realize it - he is not piqued by thirst for her blood. Just the inescapable relief, just the simmering protective rage, just the knowledge that he had gotten there on time -
Isabella is safe…
(It is not his thought, nor is it the thought of any of his family, nor is it Bella thinking of herself in third-person. It is the female vampire, a witness to his blatant disregard for the law of the Volturi that values secrecy above all else -)
"Edward."
He growls, something of a grunt of acknowledgement, but he is shamefully inarticulate at the moment - and yet, he cannot see how he could be anything but inarticulate given the fact that his mate had nearly -
"I'm fine. But you need to calm down if you're going to be seen here," she says gently, an unmistakable edge of order in her voice that gives him enough clarity of thought to realize that she is right. And to realize that she is no longer touching his skin, though she has not shied away from his embrace.
He gives himself another moment, forcefully calling his mind to order, and then he stands them both up, steadying Bella with a hand pressed to her lower back, hunching protectively around her - even in the face of EMTs or the arrival of a very frantic Chief Swan -
o.o.o
o.o.o
"The future is still the same, Edward."
He takes that to mean that Bella's brush with near-death had not come to the attention of the Volturi. Yet.
Edward. Is she going to be okay?
His head snaps up, catching Rosalie's gaze in the rear-view mirror rather than Alice's. He hesitates, somewhat shocked that Rosalie cared, and then nods.
"Well, I don't know about anyone else," Emmett says with a grin. "But that's just about the most fun I've had in a long while!"
Jasper drags his hand down his face. "For the love of Christ, Emmett."
"What? What did I say?"
o.o.o
o.o.o
Edward has intentions. Well, one intention, really, but he's decided that it would be prudent if he were to make Chief Swan aware of said intentions before Edward took any further steps - because while it is not necessarily tradition anymore, he still believes that the father deserves some modicum of respect in being made aware that a daughter's hand is being sought -
He will not admit it to anyone - not if he can help it - but he is somewhat nervous as he stands on the front porch of the Swan household, plucking courage from a deep-set reserve as he knocks politely, three raps of mindful strength against wood.
And God must truly despise him because it is Bella that answers the door and she is sleep-ruffled, cheeks stained pink from the flush of sleep, her hair curling messily around her shoulders. Her feet look so small in the cable-knit slippers she has shoved them into and her nightwear is an instant threat to his self-control.
Still, he smiles widely, closed-lipped to keep the lusty venom trapped behind his molars, and says, "Good morning."
It takes a moment for her to register that it's him at the door and when she does, her reaction is nothing short of adorable. Bella starts, then modestly takes a half-step so that she is partially hidden by the door. Her eyes are wide, brighter in the morning than at any other time, the viridian moss flecked with glowing gold. "What are you doing here?" she demands, hushed and two shades short of scandalized.
God, but he wants to kiss her. Devour her.
"I've come to speak with your father," he says instead.
"At six in the morning?"
"It's very important."
Her brows arch high, lips pressing together in a contemplative pucker -
"Cullen?" Chief Swan asks from behind her, scooting her away from the doorway with a gruffly gentle hand. "Boy, what on Earth are you doing here so damn early?"
Chief Swan is arguably a very imposing man - tall, strapped with muscles, dark hair dusted with silver, and eyes that glint with a steely determination, their shade just a touch darker than his daughter's. Edward cannot truly decide if Chief Swan seems intimidating because he is intimidating, or if Edward is intimidated because he is guilty of fantasizing about the Chief's daughter and a part of him is irrationally certain that the Chief knows. He's glad he's not human, else a hot flush would have betrayed him. And as it is, he's never had a clear read on the Chief - Charlie Swan has a mind that is half white-noise, and half impressionistic images.
Edward musters his courage again. "Sorry, Chief, but I felt it imperative to talk to you before you went to work."
"Imperative, huh?" Charlie crosses his arms, speculative, and then steps back from the door. "Well, come on in. We'll…talk while Bella gets ready."
Edward conscientiously keeps his eyes trained on the Chief while Bella darts upstairs, although he very much wants to watch the play of her leg muscles, the way her skin stretches over her thighs and ankles -
"I would like your permission to date your daughter," Edward says plainly, downright pleased that he'd said date instead of court. He should have brought flowers, or something. Hands empty, it's all he can do to stop himself from fidgeting as he clasps his hands behind his back, standing as tall and confident as he can -
"She is fifteen."
"Yes."
"She's mature, though," Charlie concedes.
"I agree," Edward nods tightly.
Charlie eyes him skeptically. "Alright, Cullen. You've got my permission on a probationary basis. There are rules. She has a curfew. No taking her out more than once a weekend. If she doesn't want to see you anymore, you listen. If I find out you pressure her in any way, you better run, because there isn't any place you can hide where I won't find you. Are we clear?"
"Crystal, Chief."
"Good," says the Chief. And then, when he notices that Edward has not moved, he sighs heavily, closing his eyes as if wishing for patience. "Cullen, is there anything else you wanted to talk about or are you just aiming to take up space in my kitchen?"
"I would like to drive Bella to school and back," Edward replies instantly, leaping upon the opportunity before he can talk himself out of it.
Charlie grunts, one side of his mouth ticking upward beneath the bristles of his mustache. "Fine by me. She doesn't need to be walking in this weather, anyway. Good luck convincing her, though. Stubborn as a mule, that one."
"It's one of her more admirable qualities," he smiles warmly.
And at that, he hears a very distinct thought from Chief Swan -
Damn boy is smitten.
Yes, Chief, that would be correct.
"Get the stars out of your eyes, Cullen," Charlie returns glibly, then claps Edward on the shoulder, unbothered by the stone beneath his hand. "Take care of my girl."
"I intend to."
He will keep this vow.
o.o.o
o.o.o
"You know, Edward, I didn't think you had it in you."
"Thanks, Emmett. I think."
"Now, I'm sure you know what you're supposed to do now, don't you?"
"Of course."
"Just remember that her pleasure always comes first -"
"Emmett!"
o.o.o
o.o.o
"Where are you taking me?" Bella asks as he turns the Volvo onto the seldom-used back road right off the 101. She's indulging him, he knows, because by now they are both aware that all it would take was a brush of her fingers over any of his skin and the surprise would be ruined. That she is letting him have his fun is intensely exciting.
He's having a difficult time suppressing his enthusiasm, especially as he declares, "I'm answering a question you once asked."
Her palms slap against her thighs, quickly followed by a sigh of exasperation. "By kidnapping me? Honestly."
"It's easier to show you," he grins.
And it is - because there is no adequate way to describe why vampires should stay out of direct sunlight and even having witnessed the reaction of his skin to UV rays for the last hundred years, his mind still rebels at the image. He doesn't think a human would fare too well in trying to conjure a mental image that was in any way accurate, which left Edward the only option of showing rather than telling. It was fine; it was better, even, because now he had the opportunity to really show off.
He pulls onto the side of the road right and blurs to her side of the car, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet as he waits for her to untangle herself from the seat belt. Then, he kneels so that she can crawl onto his back, her human warmth searing into his skin; she's careful as she locks her arms around his shoulders that their skin never truly touches.
He takes a deep breath. "Hold on tight."
"What-"
In all honesty, Edward had expected her to scream.
But because she is Bella, she does little else by laugh and urge him to run faster, clutching him tight enough that had he been human, he surely would have passed out from lack of oxygen. He isn't human, though, as evidenced by the speed at which he runs, the world around him in perfect detail -
He is sharing this with her, this joy, this elation, and she is returning it in kind.
Edward skids to a gentle stop at the meadow, a round clearing of yellowing grass and autumnal leaves. Bella slips off his back, then spins around in a circle, almost dancing away from him in an Alice-like fashion with her arms spread wide and her eyes closed. He stays in the dense shadows of the forest until the sun finally breaks through the clouds, bright and cool and enough of a change that Bella's eyes snap open, unerringly locating him.
He steps forward -
"This is why," she breathes, breaking their staring contest with conscious effort.
"Yes. It's a bit difficult to hide."
She rolls her eyes, then beckons him forward so that he might divest more of his secrets to her - she sits where she stands, fiddling with the white scarf stacked beneath her shin, bracketed by his leather jacket that he had never requested she return - and he can do little else but lounge beside her, propped on his elbows. He does not blink. He does not want to miss this moment or risk remembering it differently.
Bella is so beautiful - so his, cloaked in his scent, bathed in the shimmering reflection of his skin, willing to place her safety into his care, and her time with his own -
"Tell me about that day. Why did you attack me?" she requests simply.
Well. He wasn't expecting that.
Edward drops onto his back, a sigh punched out of his lungs as he stares up at her. He can't help but to marvel once again at the vision she presents - though this time, he will admit that his urge to do so is motivated by the fear that once she learns about why he'd behaved to atrociously the day they met she will leave and he will be bereft - having loved and lost and -
"Isabella Swan," he murmurs thoughtfully, reaching a hand toward her, stopping just shy of brushing her cheek, though he very much wants to and it is nearly painful to refrain from doing so. "I had so many warring instincts that day. Your blood was singing to me at the same time your soul was drawing me closer - and I didn't know, couldn't know, whether I wanted to bite you so I could kill you or bite you so I could keep you. You are a drug to me in so many different ways, Bella. My own personal brand of heroine. My drug of choice….And I cannot imagine how I could continue to live without you."
Distressingly, she does not respond to this directly. Instead she says, "I want to try something. Don't move."
Automatically, without thought or heed, Edward honors her request, holding utterly still. He does not dare to even breath, especially as she leans forward and traces a single finger over the contours of his face. Her touch is like a brand, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. Brow, nose, cheekbones. A tug on his hair -
And then he becomes aware of her mind - of the presence of her mind glidingly so seamlessly alongside his own. He does not have the wherewithal or the inclination to even attempt to push her mind away, and so he leaves it open as he always has and he allows her to traipse through, battering at his every thought with all the softness of a butterfly's wings. Each question she pushes toward him is answered immediately; each touch of her skin upon his own is returned with a memory of her, of how he sees her and nothing but her. Only ever Bella.
The thought slips through, from his mind to hers - mate.
Her questing fingers pause at his lips, which part beneath the gossamer pressure of her touch.
Mate, she ponders - and the answer is there, a wellspring of information that blooms and is plucked accordingly - what it means for her and for him and for them - and then her lily-soft palm is curling around his jaw, angling his chin even as her mind sings, Yes.
Their lips meet, just a brush of chastity, the air from her sweet lungs absorbed into his. And then the kiss explodes into a breathless joining, her hands twisting deep into his hair, their chests pressed together so achingly tight, his hand learning to seductive curve of the dip of her spine. His skin feels hot and too tight and she has broken away from their kiss, breathing raggedly but not pulling away, and his lips cannot help but follow the graceful line of her throat, tasting her flesh much to the joint pain-pleasure of the venom itching at his gums -
Isabella.
It is not his thought.
In the space of one heartbeat, his eyes snap open and he has twisted them until he is hovering, crouched protectively over her human-fragile body even as his mind strains forward -
And then her mind is joined again with his, her palm against his throat, following the ferocious, instinctive rage that has grasped him until, yes, until it becomes apparent that they are being watched - that she is being watched -
The vampire's name is Mele.
And she knows far too much about Edward's mate.
o.o.o
DECEMBER
o.o.o
The scene is decidedly domestic but he is pleased. While Edward balances on a ladder, playing human with his speed and reach and how much he can lug up onto the roof each trip, Bella directs from down below, cradling a thermos of over-strong coffee in her mittens and smiling widely.
If his heart still beat, he's certain it would be thumping painfully.
God, but he loves her.
And she loves him - though neither have said it aloud, yet. They don't need to, not with the connection of their minds, not with the open-door policy of honesty that crests so smoothly between them each time they touch. She is his mate and he is hers. They belong to each other. And they had forever. This Christmas, this scene of domesticality, it would only be the first of many -
"Up on the left," she instructs in a low murmur.
He hastens to follow what is by most standards an inane instruction. They are both playing a part, after all, and it seems that Bella is content to tease him. They both know that the wreath was already perfectly positioned.
"Like this?" he calls down.
Her eyes gleam. "Now up on the other side," she says. "Still doesn't look right."
He smirks. "Is that so?"
"Maybe it needs to go higher."
He laughs outright at her mischievousness. "Maybe we need a second opinion," he retorts, dropping his arms and looking down the street where Chief Swan's cruiser is approaching the house.
Charlie Swan snorts at the scene that greets him, his mind a kaleidoscope of indistinct images that seem like memories tinged with regret -
"He's a good boy, huh?"
"Yes, he is," Bella declares proudly.
(For her, Edward would always strive to be the best. Still, it's nice to know that she already holds him in such high esteem…)
o.o.o
o.o.o
"So, she's already got you whipped, huh? I mean - ouch! Rosie!"
"Behave, Emmett."
"I was just -"
"Tryin' to get your ass kicked, son, that's what you were tryin' to do."
"Et tu, Jazz-man?"
o.o.o
o.o.o
Sometimes, he wishes that he could just push into the minds around him, but that wasn't the gift he'd been given. Edward can read surface thoughts - well, not thoughts specifically because not very many people think in words and when they do, it's a fleeting sense of focus that is squandered in the babbling flow of images, sensations, intentions, and to some extent emotions. It's worse with vampires. More intense. Louder in general.
Bella is different. Her mind is - dynamic. Unless she is touching him, her mind is absolutely silent, and when she does touch him, she manages to exert such control over what he receives, like she can cherry-pick her thoughts and memories with little to no effort at all. And he's come to find that she is not limited to surface thoughts. If she wants to, she can delve right into deep-seated memories - she can even touch places in his mind that he's never had the sense to look for. And the way she sees his mind, like it's a vast cavern of crystalline stalagmites shrouded in the very beginnings of an on-coming storm - she thinks his mind is chaotic, and he supposes that it is chaotic to her because he is constantly filtering the rest of the world and that surely does seem like the epitome of chaos. But she doesn't shy away from touching him.
And when she does touch him - the rest of the world is muted, not gone completely, but like he is listening to music underwater instead of having his ear pressed directly against a blaring speaker.
(That is odd, isn't it? That a human should have such a developed gift…)
o.o.o
o.o.o
(He's old enough - now - that he should have learned how to see the writing on the wall.
But sometimes, even Edward is surprised by his willful ignorance.)
o.o.o
o.o.o
Edward starts at the loud crashing that comes from Bella's room - a sort of tumbling rumble, a rabble of heavy thunks and fluttering pages. Her disbelieving "Unbelievable" that alerts him that she's had a mishap and he tilts his head to the side, trying to decide if he should investigate or maintain his distance - and sanity - by staying in this wonderfully accommodating tree that is decidedly not a threat to his ever-fragile self-control -
Bella opens the window, a frown slanted across her face, her brow puckered in annoyance. "Edward. Can you help me?"
He hesitates.
Because by God -
She's in a bathrobe. Just a scrap of cotton that hides the delectable curves of her body and that reveals the wondrous marvel of her silhouette as it catches in the pale glow of lamplight. His tongue might as well be stuck to the roof of his mouth for all the good it does in aiding his answer, which at the moment is a definite no. No, no, no. If he goes in there when he can clearly see the beguiling edge of her clavicle - and the jugular vein running right across it - then it's possible that any virtue she might claim would be in tatters by the morning -
Bella looks down, as if it is only now dawning on her that she's not exactly dressed for company. She blushes. "I really do need your help," she pleads, a tone of mortification ripe in her voice. "My bookshelf is very slowly disintegrating before my eyes and I'd really rather not just leave the mess until the morning. If you could just put that vampiric strength to good use…"
God help him but he cannot refuse this girl.
Edward abandons his tree. What other option does he have, honestly? His mate is asking for him -
Easy as breathing, Edward levers himself over the edge of her window sill, not daring to look away from her eyes. He definitely doesn't breathe - the saturation of her scent in this room is obvious even from his outdoor perch and he cannot imagine how strong, how enticing it might be when he is this close -
She clears her throat. "I'll just go change."
Yes. Probably a very good idea, Bella.
By the time she emerges from the bathroom clad in black leggings and a soft sweater, he has regained some margin of self-discipline back and is able to do her bidding. The situation with her bookshelf is something of a head-scratcher. He's never seen a solid shelf simply collapse, as if giving up beneath the burden of books; but then again, Bella does have an awful lot of books and the bookshelf before its demise seems to have been both old and narrow and it isn't difficult at all for him to imagine that her voracious literary appetite might have simply overwhelmed the furniture. He zips through the quiet house, disposing of the broken bookshelf near the outdoor bins, and then returns to her side, idly chatting about making up some story for her father to believe -
Salt.
Edward's head whips up from where he'd been scouring the floor for splinters. Bella is crying. His hand presses gently over the top of her shoulder, peering over her shoulder at the letter clutched in her dainty fingers as she sniffles and explains the cause for her emotional distress -
And then Bella says something odd.
"…Great Uncle Aro hasn't written me back in a while…"
Aro.
Aro.
It couldn't be - it wasn't possible - it -
"Did you say Aro?" he breathes in shock.
"Yes, I did," Bella confirms with a furrow of her brow. "It's a perfectly common name, isn't it?"
A low growl begins to build in his chest. "Not in my world," he denies -
Because there is only one Aro that Edward knows of and that is Aro of the Volturi, one of the Three Kings that ruled the vampire world - or at least held some sort of police-state dictatorship over whatever vampires they were aware of -
Bella shakes her head. "What do you mean your world?"
"Could you show me these letters?" He asks, just shy of a demand; then at her hesitation, he makes an effort to soften the harsh edge that had crept into his voice. "I just - I need to be sure, Bella. Please let me see these letters."
"Alright," she agrees. And then she steps just to the side of her desk, scooting a glossy wooden box forward, lifting the lid, and waving a painfully familiar wax seal before him.
He's almost certain that she's continued speaking, but his head is filled with white noise. Carefully, he traces another of the Volturi seals that are etched into the face of the wooden box, caught completely by disbelief. "The seal…even the box is emblazoned with it…Bella, do you have anything else from Aro?"
She responds to his urgency with little delay, a fact for which he is thankful. Edward thinks he must be on the verge of a panic attack. Could vampires have those? Edward was - the room spinning around him as she shows him a book, and then a pair of earrings - and yes. There it is. Another seal carved right into the ruby, faint enough for vampire eyes to detect -
"You've been marked by them," he snarls, pulling at his hair as he paces around her room. "Claimed by the Volturi - but why?"
He doesn't expect Bella to know; the question is purely rhetorical because Edward knows there's only one reason that the Volturi would bother with a human and - well, hadn't he thought that her gift was remarkably developed? He knows that the Volturi have a history of tracking down gifted humans to add to their guard, but they must have known about Bella for quite some time - she's still so young, after all. And - and if Eleazar is retired, then they must have a different vampire who can do a similar -
The vampire - Mele, the one that's been stalking Bella. Of course. Of course.
God. No.
Bella reaches for him, a hand to the center of his chest so that he must stop his agitated movements. "Hey," she soothes. "What are you talking about? What's the Volturi?"
How can she not know?
Edward inhales deeply, then gathers Bella into his arms, letting the feel of her body pressed against his sooth the raging beast threatening to unleash itself. "We need to speak with Carlisle - now."
o.o.o
o.o.o
(And then the terrible, shocking, wondrous news unfolds like a symphonic overture.
It all makes sense - retrospectively, it's obvious that they've all been overlooking some pretty damning evidence. Like the way that Chief Swan has aged so well. Bella's preferred bloody meals. Her durability. That gift. Even her intellect -
God, but also the way she has returned his declaration of them being mates -
Bella is not wholly human.)
o.o.o
o.o.o
There is no time to absorb this truth for what it is, because nearly as soon as the revelation has settled uncomfortably thick with implications in the living room of the Cullen house, Edward is baring his teeth at the trio of minds that are racing unerringly in their direction -
Two of those three minds occluded nearly as well as Alice and the last belonging to -
The family move into formation, all intent on guarding the most vulnerable member of their coven, but even without Alice's visions spin-cycling so quickly, Edward already knows how this will play out -
God.
"Ah, Carlisle, my dear old friend," says Aro from the doorway, his mind racing with calculations and glee and elation at Bella's scent among vampires that happened to be allies. His mind is nearly affectionate. Edward leashes his snarl as Bella stands, her heart beating loudly as Aro continues. "Might you allow into your fine home? Sulpicia and I have gone through terrible trouble to arrive so covertly. It would be a shame if our secrecy was compromised."
"Of course," Carlisle answers courteously. "Please, do come inside."
The first vampire to enter is Mele - and Edward does not care for anything except for the flare of maternal warmth this vampire feels for Bella - and then he is directing his mind elsewhere. To more important matters. To more important vampires.
Sulpicia, wrought with emotion that filters through the cloak of her mind -
And Aro, the cunning and ambitious, throttling with anticipation and memories. Bella has his eyes; or rather, the eyes Aro had when he'd been human. It's both awful and terrifying and all Edward wants to do is whisk her away, as far away as he can possibly take her, because Aro had designs in the works -
"It's true," Bella breathes, moving away from Edward at a glacial pace and he is struck frozen because Aro is meeting her halfway, both of their palms outstretched -
Bella has Aro's gift.
(And it is not an accident. None of this happened by accident.)
o.o.o
JANUARY
o.o.o
(For good reason, he is decidedly leery of Aro and Sulpicia. He can read their minds, after all, at least when they aren't consciously occluding from him -
And Sulpicia's thoughts are…Well. He imagines that Sulpicia's mind is what Rosalie's will become, which is terrifying because Sulpicia is…driven. That is the kindest word Edward can think of -
Aro is another level entirely. His mind is a maze, layered with twists and turns and stuffed full of a million, a billion memories from other people that he has absorbed and never forgotten and it is for that reason that Edward does not buy the whimsy that Aro tries to sell -
No, Edward has been mistaken all these years. He is damned to eternity, yes, but he is not a true vampire.
Not the way the Volturi are.)
o.o.o
o.o.o
"So, you are who my precious granddaughter has attached herself to," Aro says with a slanted smile, blithely broadcasting how underwhelmed he is by Edward in general and more specifically the prospect that Edward's diet would somehow influence Bella - make her weaker - detract from her potential -
"Yes," Edward replies simply, locking his eyes forward and maintaining a stone façade. Acting like he has never acted before out of necessity. He can't help but think that he is not performing as well as he needs to.
Aro sniffs. "A musician."
Edward bristles.
"A vegetarian."
Edward breathes slowly.
"A telepath, though," Aro muses. "How interesting that she should choose another telepath. Such opportunity."
Edward says nothing. He knows no response is actually needed - or wanted.
"I assume you are able to guess what your fate might be should you ever hurt my Isabella, or allow her to be harmed by another?"
Edward nods tightly, but he does not flinch from the bloodthirsty glint in Aro's eyes, or by the vivid explanations that Aro provides with his rather descriptive mental commentary -
Aro smiles, all teeth. "I'm glad we understand each other."
o.o.o
o.o.o
Edward will be honest: he is not sad to see Aro and Sulpicia and Mele leave as January hits the middle stride. It is a relief to see their backs, to know that their gnarling, vicious, mercurial minds will be far, far away from his own. Perhaps that makes Edward a coward, but he would challenge any telepath chained to surface thoughts to view these visitors as any sort of positive rather than the enduring, astounding, challenging torture that they are -
Alice understands. Jasper, too.
And yet, Bella mourns that they are leaving back to Volterra. She has touched them, she has read them, she knows what they are - and it does not bother her. Instead, Bella is disturbed by the lack of their presence. She cries in his arms as he holds her at the end of the driveway after the Volturi King, Queen, and Associate have left. He kisses her forehead and allows her to bask in his mind and he tries to understand how she could possibly be so unbothered by how openly blithe and cruel her relatives are -
He cannot understand, though. It is unfathomable to him, but as it is not unfathomable to her, he must do his duty as her mate and comfort her as best as possible - to push past his own reservations for the benefit of another -
o.o.o
o.o.o
(Ultimately, this is Edward's first clue that his mate is - how to put it - more pragmatic than most.
Which, inevitably, leads to Bella's first excursions in accepting her birthright.)
o.o.o
o.o.o
Bella has volunteered to be an ambassador of sorts with the fledgling Quileute pack in La Push, much to Edward's concern and consternation. But as she is less driven by politics than she is by a moral inclination to do what is right - Edward bites his tongue and waits anxiously near the border with Alice, Jasper, and Emmett within earshot.
He's trained his full concentration onto watching the visions Alice is having - sharp images of Bella on the beach with human teenagers, of Bella talking to a little runt named Jacob, of Bella turning her attention to one Sam Uley -
The visions - Bella - disappears and in a split second, Edward's heart is wrenched in two -
He snarls, unhinged, and lunges for the boarder, caught at the last second by Emmett around his middle and thwarting Jasper's attempts to forcibly adjust his mood. He snaps his teeth at Alice as she frantically dials her phone -
On the other end of the line, the receiver clicks and Alice gasps. "Oh, Bella! Are you okay?"
Edward freezes, breath stuttering, growls dying abruptly -
"What? No, Alice, I'm fine. Why would you think otherwise?"
He wilts at the sound of her voice - her perfect, unharmed voice. He can hear the thud of her heart, miniscule by the speaker, and the faint whoosh of her lungs working just as they ought to -
"You disappeared," Alice explains. "Your entire future was just gone and Edward started to lose it. He was going to cross the treaty line - it's a good thing Emmett was here - but he's stopped now. He's listening to your breathing. It would be sweet if he hadn't just been psychotic…"
No shit, Emmett comments idly, his grip yet to slacken.
"How could my future just vanish?" asks Bella.
"I don't know! But maybe you should just call this whole thing off," Alice suggests worridly. "I've felt strange about it since the very start and -"
"Alice, I have to go," Bella says abruptly. She hangs up -
And her future is still blank. It's still not there.
Alice turns wide eyes onto Edward and then says, "But your future is okay - you're happy, not acting as if you've lost a mate -"
"She is my mate," he snarls defensively.
"I know!" Alice snaps. "I'm just - what if it's, like, psychic interference or -"
Emmett snorts. "What, like you can't see werewolves, or something?"
Jasper tilts his head, while Alice and Edward exchange heavy looks. Leave it to Emmett to stumble upon the most obvious, most correct explanation -
"Reckon that's true," says Jasper, his tone impressed as he stares beyond the treaty line. "If you can't see the wolves, darlin', then I have to say that that girl is mighty fearless."
Or reckless. Because wasn't it reckless to walk into a situation blind?
If Edward were human, he's almost certain he would have an ulcer by now.
(But, he'd better get used to it where Bella is concerned.)
A/N: Second installment of Auntie Kim's outtake request. Hoping to finish the other two this week so I can wrap up these characters!
As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.
~cupcakeriot