"Bella's having a really hard time naming the twins," I begin, staring at my hands. I glance up, taking in the now-familiar faces around the room.

I really have taken comfort in this group. Three times a week sounds like a shit ton, but it's honestly perfect. I get caught up in my head, but it's okay because it's usually the next day that I can rely on these people. Perhaps the only people in the world who my behavior makes any sense to. As stupid as it sounds, these people just get me in a way no one else does right now. Except Bella, of course, but our communication is still not where it should be. I know that. I don't need them to tell me, but I know enough that I think they can spur me into action. Just their listening helps so much.

"I guess it's more than that." Elizabeth's green eyes watch mine, knowing and listening. I keep mine on hers, using her interest to fuel my revelation. "I think we're both in shock that we get to have them."

I wince, since I know that must be hard to hear for a few different people here. We should be grateful, grateful beyond words that our children were born and are now in our care. I feel Elizabeth's eyes boring a hole in mine when I find them again.

Her sheath dress is a soothing mint color this time. Her legs are crossed primly, and she sits like she was posed there. Her headband matches her dress.

"I don't know how to talk to her anymore. I'm sure each of you remember how the voice… I mean, Mr. Hunter I guess… he would take advantage of what we said to one another."

Nods all around, mostly. I'm momentarily glad for the affirmation, and then ashamed of myself.

"Well we just got so good at talking, without, you know, talking. That's great for surviving that fucking place, but not so great for being out here."

Emmett's hand drips over the side of his chair, taking Rosalie's into it. His massive hand envelopes hers whole.

"Edward, we all hear your concerns about communication. Thank you for being so open with us." Stephanie slips into the conversation, reminding me of her presence. I bristle at the unexpected voice, shooting her an uneasy glance. I do not like that a counselor was introduced to our group sessions, and I especially do not like the one-on-one recommendations.

"Edward, why do you think you can be so open with all of us here, but you struggle to talk to Bella?"

I sigh. "I don't know. Maybe because you all aren't fucking terrified of me." The snap is out before I can keep it in, and I am simultaneously mortified and angry with Stephanie for making me say it. But it's true, and it's out.

I see Elizabeth's eyes narrow, Rosalie's lips purse, Charlotte's grey eyes harden, and Kate's glance lands on me and slips away. Leah's not here, but I'm sure she would have been unhappy with me too.

"How exactly would you feel about Bella if she had been the one hurting you all that time, instead of the other way around?" Rosalie's voice burns cold through the air. She's almost hissing.

This is the first time I've seen her here, so I'm irritated by her presence already. I don't trust her yet, and I don't like her attitude at all. "Yeah, because I wanted to do that shit, right?" I snort. Leaning back and throwing my leg across my left, I cross my arms. "You don't have any idea what you're talking about."

"Don't I?"

"No, you fucking don't."

Emmett snarls, turning to face me. He's just to my left, and I do not appreciate the threat. My hair feels like it's standing on end, and my blood runs much faster.

"Alright, alright," Stephanie warns, glancing at the guard at the door. "Let's take a moment and reflect. Edward, your situation is a bit unique in that your counterpart may have entered the situation with past trauma. But you are not totally unique in this space." She gives me a meaningful glance that I read as 'chill the fuck out or you'll be thrown out, and I'll write on my stupid fucking pad and get you in trouble'. Or something like that.

Rosalie sniffs, refusing to even look at me.

"It is good, Edward," doesn't she know that we all know exactly what she's doing, with all the name repetition? "That you feel this is a safe space to discuss your feelings, since it is. But Bella may have issues opening up to you if you don't open up to her."

I nod. That makes sense.

"Sometimes, the best thing to do is to humanize yourself. You are not her protector all the time, you are not brave all the time, you too have your fears and doubts. I think that we all," she gives one of her patented meaningful looks around the room. "Could learn that we can be vulnerable to one another. Especially the men here."

Stephanie looks appraisingly at each of us, around the circle. Her face is marred by smiling lines; her hair is done carefully but betrays her age. She is a very interesting presence without being too maternal. I think we are all getting our fair share of mothering, and I appreciate her colleague-to-colleague style. Even if she does drive me batshit crazy sometimes.

I shift on the chair, the small of my back tight with unrest. I can only sit so long, since regaining my freedom. I just need to walk out of rooms to remember that I can do it, sometimes.

"Peter, Charlotte. Do you have any news for us?"

Charlotte shakes her head and smiles her too-bony smile at us. It's not very convincing. "No, nothing just yet." She drops her hand to Peter's, but doesn't take his. She waits for him to grab hers, which he does. "But we're still hopeful, of course. That's the most important thing, remembering to keep hoping."

I look at her, so puzzled by these words from someone her age. She is so young, to be sounding like a worried mother. She looks ten years older, or more… three little girls, she's missing. Peter even looks gaunt, his cheeks so sharp looking, as if they might cut. Charlotte palms her side, massaging some unknown pain there. Peter sees it and does a bit of a wince-frown. I watch their interaction with all the curiosity that I watch every warehouse couple's. The call and response style of body movement, the constant physical reassurances… it's like looking just in a mirror.

"That's right, Charlotte. We're all hoping along with you."

What a useless sentiment. Those three little girls are in the wind, just as lost as we all were until quite recently. Only a miracle will bring them back, and fate is fickle with miracles. Who knows that better than us?

"I would like to say something." His voice is like a pained croak, and I can hear the barely palmed desperation.

"Of course, Jasper."

He clears his throat, wincing and avoiding all eye contact. His loose and slightly shaggy hair drifts over his forehead, and he swats it away from his eyes.

"I just wanted to say to y'all, while we're all here and everything, that I am… I'm here for everyone." He looks up, soft eyes searching the group. We all look at one another as if there is something to find.

"Thank you Jasper, that's good of you to say."

He sighs, worried at his hands, long fingers twisting around one another and pulling. "I lost Mary Alice, and I don't want anyone to feel alone the way that girl did." He looks determined, his jaw set below the honey blond. He looks pointedly at Elizabeth, who accepts the look as blankly as an inanimate porcelain doll. He nods a sharp nod and sits back.

Stephanie begins to drone on in her uninspired way, and my attention is lost. My thoughts are back to Bella and the West End house, and away from this group, though I take such refuge in attending it. I wonder about the twins.

I wonder what their lives will look like. I imagine that Bella eventually would want to leave the West End house. It tightens my throat, but I don't know where we stand together. What would years look like? Is this intense bond that I have with her a result of our shared trauma and imposed proximity? It doesn't feel that way. It feels as if I was made to hold her, and she was made to be held by me. We are so complementary, and yet we are strangers for the moment. Strangers who feed off one another and desperately need the reassurance of the other's company and presence. But strangers nonetheless.

What would it look like, if we could work things out and be together? Raising the twins. Sending them off to school hand in hand, watching Baby Boy play for some team in the stands together, walking our daughter down the aisle. Marrying her, one day.

But how do we get to know one another? Know one another as independent people? Will Bella ever overcome everything that has happened to her, to be more than a victim? As harmful as that word can be, her life has been so structured by trauma. We still have not discussed her father and his abuse at any length. I do not know when it started, to what extent… thankfully, I can assume it was not largely sexual abuse, since she… she was definitely a virgin, that first time in hell.

I drum my fingers on my leg, the coarse fabric providing distracting texture for me. It seems that I can focus any fucking where today, besides on a solid and substantial train of thought that will lead me to an actionable conclusion.

I fade back into the conversation, floating along it for a moment before being snapped back in. Emmett and Rosalie are talking about their baby boy. He is still in the NICU, or the hospital at least based on what they've been saying. But he seems to be mostly out of the woods, which I am intensely grateful for. Becoming a father has made me feel these things personally in the strangest way, but I can feel myself rooting for that little baby that I have never met.

"We are calling him Emmett Henry McCarty," her violet blue eyes sparkle like I've never seen them before.

Emmett chimes in immediately, "Mack, we're calling him Mack for short." His voice rumbles from his body like I imagine a bear's world.

I like the name. I like how classic the name Henry is, and Emmett is not a very heavy family name to give a baby. I'm a bit disgusted at myself, seeing how I'm fussing over a baby's welfare and his name, but it makes sense. Names have defined my life lately.

Rosalie bites her lip and looks nervously at Charlotte, Elizabeth, and Kate. It is really hard to be joyful in this space with so much pain. Her smile is soured by an attempt at being respectful of that palpable issue.

"I wanted to thank everyone for their kind thoughts while I was in the hospital. Emmett told me about everything you all said." She twists an interesting ring on her middle right-hand finger, the glint of which catches my eye and holds my attention.

Hearing about baby Mack is about the last interesting thing that happens in the group session. Everyone begins saying goodbye, but I grab my jacket quickly and stand, making for the door. Pushing hard into the bar, I pop out of the door, intent on making a quick line to the car. The barest shiver of a touch on my arm makes me startle though, and I freeze my way to a stop.

A miniature, flawless outstretched hand hangs in the air for a moment before it drops to a perfectly pressed dress. She clasps her two hands together, her copper hair just settling back down after the bounce of its curl. She must have walked quite quickly to catch me in those little prim shoes.

"I," she begins, high and breathy, cheeks coloring prettily. Almost just the way that Bella's do. "I wanted to see her. Bella, I mean," she adds hurriedly, embarrassed, "I have not had the pleasure of meeting her, and I thought that I could talk to her. I imagine I have some things to say that she would like to hear."

There is an almost old-fashioned lilt to her voice that makes her speech seem scripted, despite her nervousness. I don't know what in the world she could want to tell Bella, but whatever it is, it might be quite important. She is shaking lightly right in front of me. I can see the quiver in the hem of her dress and the flutter under her slightly frightening collarbone.

"I don't know if she is up for guests…" I begin, cautious with my tone of voice. You can never be too careful with the girls from the warehouse, who startle and find authority very frightening. Or pull themselves together up and against you in a very purposeful and lashing-out-from-fear way.

"Of course, I would never dream of intruding." She flutters her eyes down, peering back up at me through thick blond eyelashes. She is very polite, at least.

I feel around within myself, waiting for some sort of bad feeling about this request. Nothing comes to me, and my mind is quite settled. I offer her my arm, since she looks as though she could use the support and affirmation. She takes it with reverent delicacy and steps in line with me to the car.

My car was waiting for me when I returned to my parent's home, after our rescue. They moved it to the West End house for me, almost as if they knew I would need their support upon my return. It sits now, a little older but no more worn, in the parking lot outside the meeting. I feel Elizabeth's eyes slide over it, and feel her relaxation. There is something about a nice car that puts women at ease, almost as if only the drivers of shitty cars have the potential to hurt. I suppose that my car implies a wealth that makes me a safe bet, but I resent that. We don't know much yet about Hunter or the organization he seems to have been a part of, but you bet your ass there are well-paid members of it. Money does not buy safety. Clearly.

She slips delicately into the car when I hold the door open for her, needing to stand on the running board to reach her fawn legs up to the seat.

I wonder momentarily if she is leaving her car here, and ask.

"No," she answers. "I arranged for a ride here and they can fetch me from yours."

I note the non-gendered pronoun. Who is "they"? Certainly not her counterpart, I remember, Riley Biers is quite dead, leaving Elizabeth Masen quite alone. I wince a bit. Perhaps that was callous of me.

"Alright."

I start the car, the engine purring smoothly to life. The Land Rover is a good car. An easy ride, a smooth drive, simple niceness without over-the-top luxury. I feel the seat settle into its setting, and leave Elizabeth to adjust her side of the AC. I set mine on 74 though, in case she is feeling cold and worried about overheating me. She sits with her legs carefully crossed, watching out the window and not seeming particularly open to conversation.

It is not so far to the house, dipping through the countryside and away from the heart of the area. The trees grow thicker and the houses grow thinner, and I grow more at ease.

Of course, Hunter is still at large. I think all of the survivors can feel that, at some primal level, he is out there and could come for any one of us. Elizabeth's security detail has tailed us, something I both expect and dislike. I enjoy the supplement to our security for Bella, but my eyes flash again and again to the rearview as we continue. There is something about someone following me that sets my teeth on edge.

I am tired of feeling like a hunted animal, after all that has happened to us. I glance sideways at Elizabeth, noting her lovely perfect hair once more. Just a slight curl, a slight bounce that quivers when the car does. Not a hair out of place. Perfect hair won't save you either, I muse, then fall mentally silent at my own creepy thought.

I try to space out to fast forward through this awkward-without-being-awkward ride. I am busy wondering what she wants to say to Bella when the turn for the drive shakes me into paying attention. I flip on the signal and take the right a bit too quickly. Elizabeth takes the seat rest in her hand carefully.

"Listen," I begin to warn her, finally starting to worry about how this encounter will go. "She's in a really strange place right now… I don't know how she'll react to you. I don't know how much you will get out of her…"

Elizabeth turns to face me full on, her calm eyes warming with sympathy. In this moment, she is radiating confidence, a complete 180 from most of her interaction with me so far.

"I know. It will be fine, Edward."

Of course, she understands better than most, maybe even better than I ever could. She is part of this bizarre sisterhood, along with the other women of the warehouse. Women who know what it was like to be there, in that place, and to be subject to such violence. Physical, mental, especially emotional. I lose self-control for a moment and my eyes search her midsection, not for long but long enough. I wonder if she carries Riley's baby there. In that sense, it is a discomforting thought, that there may be three individuals in this car. I feel on edge and guarded at the thought, as well as concern for her. But I leave all of that and open my door, jogging lightly to her side to get hers.

We walk up the circle drive to the house, bypassing the grassy circle in the center ringed in rose bushes. The new garden boy, at least, has been busy. I glance up at the house, seeing Ms. Cope move away from the window. Nosy, if well-intentioned woman.

My parents' cars are gone, from what I can tell. Convenient, considering I don't care to explain Elizabeth's presence until I understand it myself.

I steel myself before opening the heavy wood door, and feel Elizabeth beside me doing the same. She trails her fingertips over the doorframe, sets her shoulders and sets inside.

Introducing them went without fanfare, which felt like the strangest letdown ever. Elizabeth settled on the side of the bed, hands crossed lightly in her lap, crossing her ankles as well. She took Bella's frail hand in her own, ignoring the resulting flinch and beginning to cradle and stroke it. I had a deep-bones feeling that I should stay, but a deer-in-the-headlights Bella gave me the nod to slip from the room.

I guess I was so taken aback by this dismissal that I thought nothing of it before I was alone in the hallway. Just a few quick steps and I am in the nursery, hanging my head over my daughter's crib.

She peers up at me now, curious and wobbly. Still so new. I wonder how long it takes before they stop seeming so new.

I want to smell her head, but she looks so content down there. I trace my index finger over the curve of her tiny cheek, smiling against the bar that lies across my face. That is how Elizabeth finds me.

She smiles a sweet, sad smile, tracing her touch over the bar of the crib. I am instantly protective and ready to snarl, but I cool it as soon as my mind comes back to me. "She is beautiful." Her voice is quiet, reverent, and soothing.

"Yes, I think so." I beam up at her, ever the fucking proud idiot. I don't give a damn, she is.

Elizabeth returns my smile, her expression lovely and tragic.

"How did it go in there?"

"Quite well."

"What did you talk about? Was she frightened at all, or okay?"

"I think these are questions that you could ask her." Her rebuke is gentle, but reminds me. Yes, yes, everyone has said I must speak to Bella. I look back down at my sweet girl. If only everyone was as easy to talk to as she is.

"I will be taking my leave," she begins, too formally. "I hope to see you at the next session."

"You will."

"Thank you, Edward. Your home is lovely."

I smile tightly rather than correct her. Ms. Cope has appeared from thin air to escort her down, and I am glad for the continued peace in the nursery. I linger with the babies until she returns, and then I have her help me carry the twins to Bella's room.

The room is brighter now. Elizabeth has thrown open the gauzy window coverings, done in ivory and cream. The last light drifts into the room, throwing everything in gold and contrast. Bella sits propped up in the bed, chewing on her lip and looking thoughtful.

Her hair frames her face in its pretty wave, having regained much of its luster in this time of healing at the West End house. There is some color back in her cheeks, although they are gaunt. She is on a special diet so that she can feed these two and still put on some weight herself. Strange to think how most women strive to bring baby weight off, but her doctor recommended trying to keep everything on that she could. I wonder, not for the first time, the psychological impact of those eating games.

"Hi, bunny."

She smiles at me, and it touches her eyes for the first time in so, so long. I feel buoyed by this reaction, and validated in my original plan.

I set Baby Girl on the bed and Ms. Cope brings Baby Boy, excusing herself quickly. They absorb both Bella and I for a good long time, and we just enjoy the time with them together.

I am comparing pinky sizes with my daughter when she speaks.

"Elizabeth is very kind."

"Yes, she is, I think so too."

Silence, besides the slight noise of the babies. They can be so, so quiet.

"She had an idea."

I wait for her to go on.

She clears her throat and shifts on the bed, wincing.

"I could tell you what I call them in my head."

I smile. I knew, I just knew, no mother could go on with the Baby Girl and Baby Boy nonsense. Not my clever girl. No, she had something in there this whole time.

"…And you could decide their middle names."

I frown. "Bella…"

"I know what Stephanie said," she interrupts me; visibly swallowing her fear once she realizes that she's done so. "I mean… I just think that it's our choice."

A weight has come off of her, that much I can see. Her shoulders settle and she waits for my reaction.

"I agree."

She gives a million-dollar smile, and I feel like I've won the lottery.

Once we move past the name issue together, things just… they fall into place, as they always have when we are in one another's company. We just rest on the bed together, staring at the two little lives that we created. Bella nurses them, and I feel like I have stumbled into some mythical and unachievable best-case scenario that was never supposed to be mine. We are not talking, not a ton, not just yet, but I can see us headed that way. We moved past this obstacle and I am sure we can do the same for all others.

The babies go to sleep tonight with their new names, having officially established a solid footing in the world. They are certainly different names, but these two found us: two very different parents.

Edward Callicutt Cullen. She's been calling that little baby boy Edward, if you can believe it.

She said, "Two Edwards, for the two best things to ever happen to me." I will not deny how that hit me right in the gut. How to be a savior for her, a guide to him…

Callicutt, a British surname. We agreed the poor guy ought to be Cal, or Cutty.

Truitt Kate Cullen. Kit, Bella wants to call her. I heard it once and knew it was her. My little girl, born with tons of thick eyelashes. I love saying it, in my head and to my girl. Kit Cullen, Kit Cullen. The clicky-and-sure consonants of these names are so reassuring, in a way.

Bella named the babies. Cal and Kit.

AN: Hello friends! I said next week and here I am, in the next week! Bizarrely proud of this. Please let me know your thoughts. I know we're just laying groundwork and it seems a bit slow. What have I done that makes you furious, that makes you want to change the story...? :) Hope to hear from y'all. I'll leave South Africa next week but hope to get something to you anyway.