Posted 2023-11-28; beta'd by Eeyorefan12

Bella sat by the window in her room, her gaze resting on the still unfamiliar constellations that filled the night's purple-black sky. No one had followed her up from the sitting room, and she was grateful for the solitude in which to think—and worry.

She ran over what Esme and Edward had said again and again—numbly replaying Edward's still shocking offer, an offer that would turn his life upside down to save hers. It didn't help that she also thought of Jason and of what could have been, even if it felt like a lifetime ago.

It was natural to wonder. Natural to grieve.

Those thoughts weren't her only source of discomfort. If she accepted Edward's clearly duty-driven proposal, she would likely be ruining his chances for a future with a Sabellian woman who loved him.

That thought only led to her imagining what intimacy would be like with Edward.

She pressed her warming cheek against the cool glass.

There was a knock at the door.

"Bella?"

Edward? He never came to her room. She sat up, took a deep breath, and tried to will the blood away from her cheeks. "Yes?"

The door opened slightly. Edward stood in the hallway, carrying a small lampa light and a parcel under his arm. "May I come in?"

Through the crack in the door, Simeon slipped inside and hopped up beside Bella, butting his head under her hand. She scratched his cheek. "Is it . . . appropriate to?" How far she'd come, that this was her first thought: what met the standards of Sabellian propriety. Of course, it wasn't just that; given what Edward had just offered her, and her stupidly embarrassing response, she wasn't exactly ready for more variations on humiliating herself.

"Well, we're now siblings, so . . ."

Ah, yes. There was that. Jasper wasn't the only one thinking Edward's proposal was problematic.

Perhaps talking was best. She at least owed him an apology for how she'd left things downstairs. "Of course. Sorry, I'm a little . . . off-kilter today." She went to stand, but Edward held up his hand, indicating she should remain.

Simeon yowled, nudging again at Bella's hand, and she resumed petting him.

Edward sat down beside her on the window bench, rubbing the whiffler's back. "I should have put him out before coming up. Is he bothering you?"

"No," she said, smiling. "He's good company, just not at bedtime." He had a habit of trying to get under the covers with Bella.

Edward chuckled. "He knows we're wise to his games." They sat together quietly for a moment, letting Simeon rub his cheek against Bella's hand and then Edward's.

"I meant to give this to you earlier, but it—well, we've all been . . . off-kilter, as you put it." He held out the small burlap-wrapped parcel.

Bella took it, unfolding the rough cloth to reveal his gift. She gasped out loud. "Is this—?"

"Your very own, yes." Edward smiled.

Bella stared at the thick white scrip and metal pen, hand pressed to her chest. "Thank you so much." There was a swell of excitement. Much like a tablet computer, the sturdy and parchment-like Sabellian scrips functioned as both paper and library. "It's different from the ones I've seen."

"It is. The grain is much finer, much more like paper than a regular scrip. It took a while to find one. It'll let you draw with a fair amount of detail. It won't be exactly the same, but—"

"Edward, I can't tell you how—" Her throat closed, tears welling. She'd missed drawing with an almost painful ache. "Thank you," she whispered more huskily.

"I'm glad you like it. I thought you might find it useful to . . . write out your thoughts too, given today's developments."

Bella cleared her throat, still holding the scrip and stylus. He was being so kind.

Simeon gave a loud yowl, flicking his tail back and forth, trying to rub his face against the scrip. Bella gave him a half-hearted scratch by the ears.

Edward stood. "I'll leave you."

"Actually, if you're not busy, if it's okay could we . . . talk?" She'd barely acknowledged his offer, and she still had so many questions.

"Of course." Edward sat down across from her on the bed edge.

He looked more at ease than he had downstairs, and more at ease, she realized, than she'd seen in the last weeks. Tensions had risen notably in the household. "You seem . . . more relaxed. I mean, not from downstairs but . . . in general."

If Edward noticed her chagrin, he didn't show it. "I think relieved is more the right word. I suspect my brothers are as well. I've been troubled by our . . . irritation with each other. I'd worried that our relationships had been eroded because of my absence."

She could imagine, and for a moment she wondered what it would be like for her, returning home to her family and friends. "I can see how that'd be worrisome," she said softly. "I, um, wanted to apologize about how I behaved downstairs—leaving after your offer, I mean. It was very rude of me, and I should've—"

"No," Edward said. "I know my offer was very unexpected, and you'd already had quite an eventful day." There was that soft, gracious smile. Esme's smile, she realized.

She returned the expression, though far less certainly.

Simeon left the settee and hopped up onto the bed, flopping onto his back beside his master. Edward rubbed his stomach, flicking away the few playful bats Simeon gave him.

"So, if we were to be married, how would people take that? I mean, given that we're now family?"

"Probably not well."

As she'd suspected. She nodded. Then she steeled herself to push past the mental barrier she'd carefully put in place, because an unplanned pregnancy was one thing, but the product of it was entirely another "And . . . the child of such a union?"

"Would be cherished, loved, and protected by our family. At all costs." There was a fierceness to the words. "Would you—what kind of life do you see for your child, Bella?"

Her child? "Mine? It would be . . . our child, wouldn't it?"

"Genetically yes, but this isn't where you've chosen to make a home. I wouldn't hold you here with a claim to a child that you wanted to leave with. There are other Sabellian hybrids that have chosen Earth as their home. You've had little enough choice in all of this, I won't burden you with any other obligations."

She sat back against the window, a little stunned. The more suspicious part of her wondered if he really would be so generous—if he could be. She knew almost nothing of her rights in Sabellia. And while the Cullens had been good to her, would they be willing to give up a child of their blood?

Did it matter though? Would she want to go home with a child—a half-alien one which she might not even know how to properly care for, not to mention explain? Returning would be difficult enough.

But to leave her offspring behind—it would be a final decision. There was no way for her to return of her own accord. And when she went home, where did that leave her, or more importantly, Edward? Did Sabellians have annulment or divorce?

"You don't need to decide anything now, Bella. I don't think anyone would advise you to at this point, certainly not today." He paused before saying, "But I would like to be very clear in one regard: If you felt you could not be the child's mother, I would very happily be its father in all respects."

She took a deep breath in and exhaled, nodding. He was right. She needed time to think.

Back to the list of questions then.

She wasn't sure she could get through the next ones without turning tomato red, but it would probably be better simply to ask and end the interminable speculation.

"You started talking downstairs about the mating process." She looked at her hands, twisted together in her lap. "Um, what's . . . involved?" Her cheeks felt uncomfortably warm. "Unless there's a method for artificial insemination?"

Edward hesitated before answering quietly. "It cannot be a . . . marriage in name only, I think is the term. Artificial insemination isn't possible. Not for our kind."

Her imagination unhelpfully explored the reasons for this—tentacles and all. "Why not?"

He cleared his throat, the first sign of discomfort she'd seen from him on the topic.

"If you're not okay talking about this," she said, "I understand. I can ask your moth—"

"It's not that." Edward shook his head. "Given what I've proposed, I'd rather explain it myself than have my mother address it."

She nodded. Fair enough. Still, the wrinkle between his eyebrows communicated continued discomfort.

"Are you familiar with how felines breed?" Edward asked. He eyed the whiffler beside him.

"A little." She'd gone through a documentary phase early in her high school years. Hadn't she seen something on PBS?

"There are some similarities in our male anatomy and the intercourse process."

The memory clicked. She recalled the narrator's even-toned explanation about how male cats bite their mate, holding her in place, and after release, how the cat's penile barbs stimulated ovulation. She'd had a visceral reaction then, watching the footage of the struggling, hissing female, and she did again now, almost putting a hand to her neck—before thinking better of it—and resisting the urge to cross her legs. The ubiquitous lace chokers took on a whole new meaning.

"Oh."

"There are some similarities," Edward said again. "We feel the urge to bite, but we don't have to, though it serves to . . . suppress the pain response, and—"

"I think I understand." She held up her hand.

Edward nodded. "There is more I need to tell you, though."

Bella's hand was still up, and she closed her eyes. "Unless there are tentacles involved, I don't want to—"

"You won't be able to have other children, Bella. Ever. At least, not . . . human ones."

Never? The notion banished every other thought. She stared at him.

"Our hybridity is aggressive. The mating will alter you, even more so than the seeding already has, and in the few days afterwards, you will feel unwell. It will be unpleasant until that process is complete."

Even more unpleasant than he'd already described?

Slowly, she inhaled and exhaled, finding words again. "Why wouldn't I be able to have other children?"

"Your genetics have already begun to change. That . . . new material is unique. As would be that of the man who impregnates you. Your body will only accept a pregnancy with the same genetic factors."

So she'd be functionally sterile once she left Sabelia.

"I'm sorry," Edward said. He sounded it.

"Why?" It was a breath of a word, and with it came an unexpected pang. She'd never thought of children as more than a someday—but to be faced with a stark never? "Why . . . me?"

"I don't know." It was Edward's turn to briefly close his eyes. "We've had rumors from the north for years, even before I went to Earth, though I never would have shared these with you, given how little we knew when you came. But since . . . there's been talk of illegal reproductive research with human subjects.

"We dismissed it early on, of course. It made no sense. We have treaties forbidding it, but even then, the north doesn't have access to humans or a severance network. The only way they could acquire people would be through refraction, and the danger with that has always outweighed any perceived gain—even if the travelers came voluntarily.

"But now—given that the refraction victims found with you were all female—we wondered if the northerners hadn't managed to circumvent some of the worst risks—or had just chosen to disregard them. While your survival was a small miracle, the fact that you, a human, were seeded but not impregnated, it's . . . unheard of."

She took in the information, more questions layering upon questions. This was the most Edward had ever spoken about her arrival, a mystery that remained frustratingly unsolved. That she was the lone survivor was further perplexing.

"Why is it unheard of?"

Edward rested his palms on his knees, looking down like he'd said too much. "Discussion of the mating processes seems to make you uncomfortable."

That was an understatement.

She thought of tentacles again . . . and then of much more typical human intercourse. Her blush was probably a permanent condition, at this point. "It does." Still, she needed answers, discomfort be damned. "It wasn't something that people in my family talked a lot about—at least, not my Dad, who had to raise me alone. He's even more shy about it than I am."

Edward remained silent, his gaze averted.

It occurred to Bella that perhaps his concern didn't relate to her social discomfort. "You weren't talking about me feeling embarrassed."

He gave a slow shake of his head.

"I'd rather know than . . . speculate." Whatever he hadn't yet said, it couldn't be worse than what she was imagining.

When he spoke, it was slowly, carefully—like he was censoring himself. "Seeding and impregnation come from the same process, but when the first is begun, males experience a powerful compulsion to complete the other. I can't even comprehend how someone . . . well, how they managed to refrain."

"I see." Why had he been worried to tell her that? Getting pregnant was a two-part deal. This 'someone'—the person who'd assaulted her—hadn't finished the job, so to speak. Fine. Twice was hardly worse than once. She looked at Edward. "So, okay, if we were to—we would need to—"

"Since the first process has already happened, I would only do what was necessary and then remove myself from your presence—or, be removed." His jaw was tight—his expression grim.

A fuck and flee scenario.

Lovely.

"Not helping," she breathed out, mustering the nerve to ask her next question. "So, then, after that"—she glanced at him—"we'd—"

"We would not need to mate again, not unless you wished to."

Unless she did? But wouldn't they be married at that point? Did that mean he . . . they wouldn't—

"I'm sorry, this is probably too much information right now," Edward said, moving to stand again.

"No, stay, please. I'm just . . . my irreverent sense of humor is having a field day with this."

Edward tilted his head in confusion.

"Never mind," she muttered. "Thank you for explaining all of that. Is there anything else I should know?"

"Not at this time, no." Edward looked down again, and Bella tried to make sense of the aversion.

Guilt?

"Are you back to thinking this is your fault?" she asked quietly.

He whipped his head up, meeting her gaze.

Yes, guilt.

Had he lied to her? Was he at fault somehow? The thought stabbed painfully. Jasper had said Edward had given her an infant's history. And she knew damn well that historians regularly lied—often with the best of intentions. Often with the intent to protect.

"If there's anything you've told me that's fallen short of the truth, I'd understand, Edward. But . . . I need to know that going forward, we'd be honest with each other."

He lifted one hand from his thigh, letting it hover before setting it back again. He looked her in the eye. "I've always told you the truth, Bella."

"Jasper doesn't seem to think so." She held his gaze.

He sighed. "As the eldest, Jasper . . . has suffered more than Rose and I because of our . . . history," Edward said quietly. "My kind did horrific things to the humans we stole and enslaved. I've not hidden that from you. But I don't think it would benefit you to show or explain exactly how we were monstrous. Jasper disagrees."

It was aggravatingly paternalistic. And yet . . . did she need or want the grisly details? "I understand your intent. But Edward, if I ask you a question, will you give me a complete answer?"

"Of course."

"Then why did you hesitate in answering my question? About the mating part?"

His discomfort was visible. "How much more do you want to know?"

"Give me the general picture."

He nodded, not really looking at her as he answered. "Humans have . . . physical characteristics that make them desirable to Sabellians, and until very recently in our history, men were taught that their mating urges were uncontrollable. So, to spare Sabellian women, human women were used instead. Sacrificed would be a better term. They were called surrogates." He looked at her again, remorse in his eyes. "To be made one was akin to a death sentence."

Bella understood his initial reluctance to answer, and she shuddered. With everything she was learning today, it was becoming more clear why she might have been brought here and it was a truly frightening picture. "Thank you for telling me."

"I may have been overly careful in presenting information, but it was only to avoid overwhelming you. I've never lied to you, Bella. Ever." There was a fierceness to the claim.

She'd offended him in suggesting as much. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say you had. I meant—"

"No," Edward said, shaking his head. "You didn't. But please know that I only mean the best for you—in all things. And that the truth is part of that."

"Okay," she said softly, realizing he must be questioning her truthfulness as well. She still wondered if he might have changed his opinion about her. Given his offer downstairs, maybe he hadn't—or maybe his proposal had been a noble condescension. "Edward, I . . . want you to know I truly have no memory of how I came here or who might have done this to me. I've been honest with you, too, and with your family. I know you don't know me that well but I would never—"

"Bella, please stop."

She did, glancing up at him.

His gaze was soft. "Of course you've been honest with us. It would never have occurred to me to think otherwise."

"Thank you," she said, relieved. "I just . . . wasn't sure."

"I was," he said firmly. "And maybe I know you a little better than you think I do."

He got up slowly then, earning a much quieter yowl from Simeon, now curled up at his side. "It's late. I know you've been advised not to sleep much, but you should sleep a little."

Bella nodded. It was late, and she felt wrung-out and weary. Edward shooed Simeon off the bed, picking up the lampa light before walking to the door. Bella looked again at the scrip and pen in her hands. "Thank you, Edward. For everything. For this, and answering my questions, and . . . putting up with my quirkiness."

He paused, a hand on the doorframe. "You are most welcome. As to your quirkiness"—he chuckled—"I like it. Please don't apologize for or change it."

"Oh, well good." She suddenly realized what else she hadn't thanked him for. "And Edward?"

"Yes?"

"I'm not sure how to say this. I've never had someone propose to me before."

He was still smiling warmly at her. "A first for both of us, then," he said.

She felt a swell of sincere gratitude for his ever-gracious manner and for how he always seemed to know exactly the right things to say to her.

"I know you didn't make the offer you did . . . for the reasons either of us would expect," she told him. "You're obviously a very noble person, and I wanted to acknowledge that, and thank you for what I know must be a . . . sacrifice. So, thank you."

"It isn't a sacrifice, Bella. It would be an honor." This time his eyes crinkled with the soft upward curve of his lips. "Good night." He closed the door behind him.

Bella sat back down with a soft thump, flummoxed by Edward's words for a second time that day.

Noble doesn't even come close to describing this guy.

After a few moments, Bella set thoughts of sleep aside—at least temporarily. Alone and finally with the tools in hand, she spread out the scrip, bringing down the tip of the pen to begin drawing the face she'd meant to all those weeks ago, hoping she could render it to reflect the kindness and integrity it housed.