Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

act i: inertia

Not everybody is fortunate enough to be able to pinpoint the exact start of their villain origin story.  

If asked, some people might be able to provide a sufficiently vague description in order to appease a jury of their peers, but Madhuri is quite proud to say that the Beginning Of The End for her was Tuesday, November 12th, 1985, where, at the ripe old age of ten, she overheard her father joke, “if you want Akhil to do something, you just need to think of it and he will have already done whatever it is.  If you want Madhuri to do something, you tell her to do the opposite and then you pray.”

Being a whole two years older than her didn’t stop Madhuri from smearing gulab jamun syrup all over her brother’s kurta out of spite - because mom had said to try and keep from ruining his clothes before they went to Nalini Auntie’s for Diwali, and if she was going to get reincarnated as an ant anyway she was going to make the most of it.

This isn’t to say her contrarian streak has always been a force of evil.  So far, it’s gotten her name in five different academic journals, a whole MD, and a pretty nifty trauma fellowship out in the middle of Bumfuck Nowhere, Washington.  

Except Madhuri is (grudgingly, silently) starting to see exactly why dad tacked on ‘and then you pray’ because, bizarre trauma cases aside, Bumfuck Nowhere, Washington sucks.

Four months ago, Bumfuck Nowhere was called Forks and it looked fun.  Madhuri had fellowships lined up all over Ontario, but none of them had the batshit crazy potential that she knew for a fact could only exist in a place with a population of three thousand.  After living in Toronto her whole life with five million other people and then treating all five million run-of-the-mill GSW’s, stabbings, OD’s, interspersed with the occasional ‘how in the living fuck did you manage to break physics this bad’, this was supposed to be the perfect escape from monotony.  

Then mom went and said she’d regret it and why couldn’t she just take the London fellowship yaar and Madhuri was on the cheapest flight to Dulles International Airport before the sun was up.

If she’d known that would be the last time she’d see the sun ever, she might’ve been inclined to think twice.  Or thrice.  Or for half a second longer than the zero seconds of thought she put into this.

She hates it here so much it physically hurts to get into her janky little Toyota and make the five minute drive to Forks Community Hospital.  There’s only one stoplight between her house and the hospital and it’s somehow always red when she gets there.  It stays red for two whole minutes, in which time every atom in her body quadruples in mass and she has to force herself to turn right into the parking lot instead of waiting for a logging truck to take her out, Final Destination style.

“Alright, Madhu, today’s the day,” she tells herself as she reverses into her regular spot and kills the engine, eyeing herself in the rearview mirror critically.  “We’re gonna go in, get us a good caseload, and we’re gonna have such a fun time that when Akhil sends us a BBM about much fun he’s having at his fancy little Bay Street firm, we’re gonna have an even funner story to tell.”

With that, Madhuri puts on her prettiest smile, fixes her plait over her shoulder, and heads for the staff entrance.  

Her smile stays on for exactly three minutes and fifteen seconds - a record - because Carlisle Cullen scurries past her, nose twitching like a bloodhound, and she just knows he’s off to steal her cases, as per fucking usual.

“Good evening, Dr Sehgal,” he calls, waving a file at her with far too much cheer for stupid-o-clock at night.

“Evening, Dr Cullen,” she greets, “Off to the ER?”

“Ah, yes, I got paged for a consult on a fender bender.  I’ll see you down there soon.”

Madhuri waits for the doors to swing shut behind him before scoffing and heading into the resident lounge.  

“Who calls for a consult on a fender bender?” she exclaims in lieu of hello, tossing her bag on the round table and sinking into her favourite spinny-chair.

Kaz hands her the patient list without looking up from playing Go Fish with Jude.  Madhuri gives it a quick once over, committing the cases and all their specifics to memory.  Though she doubts she’ll need it for anything more than the comfort of knowing it’s there, she tucks the sheets into the deep inner pocket of her sweater for safekeeping.  

“Cullen steal your groove again?” Jude teases, “Got any fives?”

“Go Fish,” Kaz says.

“He’s lying,” Madhuri sings.

“Go fuck yourself,” Kaz says in the exact same monotone, sliding his five over.  She blows him a kiss and catches the pen he whips at her, slipping it into her other pocket.  It’s steal or be stolen from around these parts; stationery is more valuable than O-neg nowadays.

“He really is a pain in the ass, though,” Jude lowers his voice, glancing around furtively even though it’s just the three of them.  “You remember that twin delivery last weekend? Reyna was on-call and she was excited because she’d been prepping for this one for months.  Rolls up ready to perform the C-section, and who else is there, gowned up and ready to go? Cullen! He took over and did the whole thing while she watched, and she’s the OBGYN!”

Madhuri wrinkles her nose in disgust.  It’s one thing to snatch up procedures as a resident when the experience makes all the difference in the early years, but as an attending? Unintentionally tacky at best, purposefully disrespectful at worst.  If the rumours regarding the Cullens’ particular brand of elitism have any merit, she’s willing to bet every penny wedged under her couch it's the latter.

“Surgery is always like that,” Kaz points out, “Need to throw their weight around just to remind everyone they’re surgeons.”

Jude tilts his head quizzically.  “I thought Cullen was an ER doc?”

“Uh, no.  The only two ER docs are me and Snow,” Madhuri explains, sitting up straighter.  Both of them turn to Kaz, who places his cards face-down and crosses his arms over his broad chest.

“I was anaesthesia for three hip replacements with him as the attending.  I thought he was ortho.”

“Wait, so what the hell service is he on?” Jude hisses, “I thought he was ER ‘cause he’s always in there, but he’s been on OBGYN, ortho, and I remember he stole my pulmonary edema case a while back!”

Against all better judgement, Madhuri grins, easing into the first few ripples of genuine excitement she’s felt since her arrival four months ago.  

Finally, something fun.

Officially, Doctor Carlisle Cullen graduated with a degree in biology from Rosalind Franklin University and then hopped across the street to their affiliated medical school, after which point he matched into his top-choice residency, completed his training in Chicago, and then decided to relocate to Forks to take on the position of ‘chief doctor’.

Unofficially, nobody actually knows what the hell it is he received training in.  Or what the hell a ‘chief doctor’ is.  For all intents and purposes, Carlisle Cullen showed up out of the blue like an angel in the eleventh hour and has continued to bless the hospital with good fortune ever since.

Gerandy’s words, not hers.  

“This is so juicy,” Madhuri whispers. 

“This is stupid,” Kaz comments.

“This is the most interesting thing to happen here since that one bear attack a couple months back.” Jude’s tone is a little too dreamy for the subject matter but she can hardly blame him when the coolest thing that’s happened since she got here was a MVC - motorcycle versus car.  As always, the car won.

Her knees throb when she shifts to try and allow blood to get back into her half-numb calves.  Cramped in the pint-sized records room, Madhuri’s never been so acutely aware of her thirty years as now.  The same positions she could hold for hours on end as a teen now keep her in bed for an extra hour as she tries her best not to tear something getting up.  As Kaz’s shoulder bumps hers, causing her to rock to the side a little and put pressure on her ankles, she decides to buy a yoga mat and figure out if those Ashtanga cassettes mom tucked into her suitcase are still functional.

“Oi, Toronto, what’s a ‘chief doctor’ and why does the middle of nowhere need one?” Kaz asks.

“I’ve never heard it called that, but generally it’s the doctor who’s gone and sold their soul to admin.” Madhuri spits the word out like keeping it on her tongue for too long will poison her.  “And normally it’s the most senior doctor there because they’re in charge of everything, so I dunno why a thirty-something like Cullen’s gone and got that plaque when Gerandy’s been practicing since before the Great Oxygenation Event.”

He makes a noncommittal noise and flips through Carlisle’s personnel file, expression so dead one would think he was memorizing the Krebs Cycle for the billionth time.  Considering this whole break in was his idea in the first place, she thinks he ought to at least look a little smug.

“Does that seriously not say anything about what service he’s on?” Jude nods to the file, jaw dropping when Kaz shakes his head.  “Alright, y’all, I’m gonna say it: what if he faked his credentials and that’s why?”

Kaz is decidedly less than impressed.  “I’ll buy faking credentials if he were just in the ER-” Madhuri slaps him upside the head, scowling.  “But you can’t fuck around and find out doing hip replacements.”

“Bold words coming from a guy whose job is to push propofol and read newspapers all day.”

“Wow, that hurts.  Let me go cry into the two hundred I make an hour.”

“Two hundred ? Hey, what the hell, I don’t make nearly as much-”

“Hey, wait! That’s smart, let’s just use his salary to figure out his service!” Jude interjects before Madhuri can finish reaming the brunet up one end of the Olympic Peninsula and down the other.

“We don’t know his salary,” Kaz counters, tapping the file.  “It’s not listed.”

“Yeah, but we know he drives a Mercedes,” Jude says triumphantly. 

“...your point?”

He points to Kaz and states, “Anaesthesiologist, kinda rich, drives a Bimmer.” Pointing to her next, he continues, “ER doc, kinda rich, kinda broke, drives a Toyota.” Finally, he points to himself and goes, “Cardiologist, rich-rich, drives an Acura.  So, with that scale in mind, where does a guy who drives a fuckin’ Mercedes S55 AMG fall? That thing’s, like, 100k easy.”

Madhuri cocks a brow.  “That’s weirdly specific of you, but okay.”

“I like cars, okay?” Jude says defensively.  

She looks at Kaz.  Kaz looks at her.  In perfect unison, they turn to Jude and chorus, “Stalker.”

“Dude, he drives the most expensive looking car in town and you expect me not to go figure out just how expensive? The guy has five kids, how the hell does he afford that when he’s gonna hafta fork -”

“I hate you,” Madhuri states flatly.  

“But I love you.  Anyway, he’s gonna hafta fork over tuition for all five of them and he just blew a year’s worth on a car? Something’s off.”

“They could be paying their own way,” Kaz suggests.  

“None of them have jobs,” she responds.  Having been unwillingly subscribed to the Journal of Desi Gossip-Shossip since she was a mere zygote, Madhuri found herself migrating to Forks' gossip circles as naturally as a monarch butterfly, so when she says she knows what's up, she knows what's up.

“Well, there’s only one explanation left.  Tax fraud.”

“Boring,” Jude declares.

“Better explanation: he’s a member of the mafia,” Madhuri suggests excitedly.  

Jude slings his arm over her shoulders, drawing her close and cooing, “Yes.  This is what I’m talking about! Keep going, tell me more!”

Madhuri triple-checks her pager on the way to the ER, just to make sure she was actually paged and didn't just hallucinate it going off like the last couple times.  Jude insisted on following her there to get a laugh out of watching the nurses tell her that no, she's imagining things, but then he got a cath lab page and had to book it to the other side of the hospital.

Knowing his ironic aversion to all things cardio, she looks forward to laughing at his out-of-breath ass when they regroup for Go Fish later.

"Hey, if it isn't Miss Stanley!" Madhuri greets, heading over to the sole occupied ER cot.  

"Jess, Dr Sehgal, you don't have to be so formal," Jessica Stanley laughs hoarsely.  Her skin is flushed and slightly puffy in places, as if there had been hives there not minutes before.  

"Anaphylactic reaction to mushrooms," Sarah, the ER nurse, reports, “I’m sorry, Dr Sehgal, but-”

"Sarah, did you start Miss Stanley on LR?" Cullen pops up out of nowhere, flashing all 32 Crest Whitestrip teeth when he smiles. 

“Dr Cullen already started treatment,” Sarah finishes weakly, “I thought you got the page cancellation.”

“No, I didn’t.” Her own voice sounds so wrong to her, robotic and echoing through the bones of her skull.  Shoving her hands inside her pockets to hide the slight tremble, Madhuri fixes Cullen with a blank stare, wishing he could feel even the barest flicker of the furious inferno razing everything inside her to ash.

Cullen just keeps smiling sedately.  

“I was in the area and figured I’d step in and help.”

What fucking help? She wants to shout, You keep stealing my patients!

Swallowing back the venomous retort before it can shatter the thin veneer of professionalism between them, Madhuri replies in a controlled voice, "Personally, because her blood pressure is stable and within normal limits, I don't see the need for anything more than simple saline.  If she has a biphasic response and the hypotension isn't responsive, then we'll just up the saline."

"I think to be safe we ought to consider all the options," Cullen reasons, hovering far too close for comfort.  Abruptly, the fire chokes out, as if all the oxygen in her body has been chased out by the arctic chill settling into her the closer he gets.  

Madhuri should set aside all personal compunctions and let him finish because arguing in front of a patient is no bueno.  She should ask to speak to him afterwards to satisfy the oppositional tendencies demanding his blood.

Instead, something in her throat catches when she meets his gaze and registers for the first time how unnaturally golden his eyes are.  Like a panther.

And she's the prey.

“Right.  Well.  Your case, your call,” she bites out, making sure to warm her expression when she waves goodbye to Jessica, and heads for the resident’s lounge as fast as possible without actually running.

Kaz looks up from where he’s peering over Jude, curled up and gasping for air on the sofa, and quirks a brow.

“Don’t tell me: Cullen?”

“I’m going to commit a felony and then self-deport to Canada,” she snaps, throwing herself into her spinny-chair and picking up her charts.  Broken collarbone - Cullen Attending.  Appendicitis - Cullen Attending.  Slipped disc - Cullen Attending.  Car accident - Cullen Attending.  Anaphylaxis - Cullen Attending.

Every fucking column has her name scratched out and replaced with his.  Every fucking time she thinks she has a chance, he’s there to snatch all the blossoming hope out of her chest with that too-perfect smile on his face.  Like he expects her to be okay with it.

Madhuri can barely hear Kaz calling her name over the blood pounding in her ears.  How dare he.  How dare he think that any of what he’s doing is acceptable; not just to her but to every other physician who’s busted their ass to earn their rung on the ladder only for him to step all over them to save the day?

It’s not right.

“Madhuri.” Kaz pokes her right in the ribs, pulling her out of her thoughts.  His dark eyes narrow as they sweep over her, and Madhuri’s acutely aware of how pale she must look.  She’s freezing.

“Sorry, I was just busy plotting how best to dispose of his body after I run it through a meat grinder.  What were you saying?”

Kaz radiates disbelief, but thankfully he takes the hint and remarks, “I was just saying, it’s funny how Cullen stole your ER case.  He took his cath, too.”

“That’s not possible.”

“Is too,” Jude rasps, muffled by the pillow under his face.  “Got there...already had the guidewire in...took over, told him to fuck off.”

If it were somehow physiologically possible for all the blood to shunt to her chest and crystallize, it would have in that moment.  Madhuri’s grip on her pen is so tight it nearly snaps in two.

“That’s not possible,” she repeats, “Cullen was already treating my anaphylaxis when I got there.  How did he get from the cath lab to the ER that fast? Even if Kaz ran he wouldn’t have made it in time to start directives before me.”

All the ire brewing for four months is tossed down the drain, replaced with a chilling sense of wrongness as she stacks the facts up side by side.  It's the same feeling that chased her out of the ER not five minutes ago, back with a vengeance now that she's not face-to-face with him, safe to panic and grapple with the knowledge that she narrowly avoided his cold clutches.

“Maybe he’s a trackstar,” Kaz says.  There’s a weird pause where he’s watching her, and she realizes he’s trying to crack a joke and is waiting for her to snark like she usually does.

“Maybe he’s a fucking vampire,” Jude suggests, sitting up and brushing dirty blond hair out of his face.  Though his voice is light, there’s an unmistakably serious glint in his green eyes, a hardness that doesn’t belong to someone so vivacious and kind. 

“That’s a stupid leap to make.”

“No it’s not.  Like Madhuri said, he gets around way too fast-”

"Donnell, just because you're asthmatic enough to need a lung transplant doesn't mean the rest of us are supernatural for being able to get around quickly."

"Okay, Voronin, you're telling me that in the, what, five minutes it took for me to kick him out of my cath lab, he was able to get to the ER before Madhuri did and start treatment? I left Madhuri halfway there.  How does that work out, huh?"

Kaz purses his lips and sinks into the chair next to her, drawing an invisible line between them: Team Vampire versus Team Human.

Hysterically enough, she thinks she belongs on the other side.

Madhuri grew up on tales of chudails and vetala at home alongside vampires and werewolves on the schoolyard, tales she’d openly mocked because it was all so fucking stupid.  Monsters belong in monster movies.  Monsters don’t wear white coats and drive Mercedes’.  

But maybe this one does, because the only way Carlisle could’ve done any of that was magic.  Or something... other.  Something she refuses to give a name to, even in her head - the overwhelming terror gripping every neuron keeps her from doing so.

"He takes day shift," Kaz, ever the cold logician, puts forward, "Vampires burn in the sunlight."

"Spike from Buffy used to get around during the day if he stuck to the shadows," Madhuri rebuts quietly, "Carlisle takes off every time it's sunny out.  I cover his shifts."

Jude juts his chin out triumphantly.  Kaz just stares at her with faint disappointment lining his mouth.

"Ty s uma soshel...right, so he's fast and spends his vacation days wisely.  This makes him a vampire.  Riddle me this: vampires drink blood.  He does surgeries.  How?" Kaz argues, leaning forward to brace his elbows on his knees.  One of them bounces anxiously until Madhuri kicks him in the shin; the motion out of the corner of her eye adds a layer of disorientation her already dizzy mind doesn’t need.

"He's probably had a couple hundred years to get used to it on account of the immortality," Jude stresses, glaring at the anaesthesiologist balefully.  "You might not believe in all the things that go bump in the night, but the rest of us do and for a reason.  Where the hell do you think these stories come from? And if they're such bullshit, why do they persist to this day? You'd think if they were so dumb that they'd go the way of fucking bloodletting and the four humours by now, but they haven't."

"Have you considered we haven't put all this bullshit behind us because idiots like you still believe in fucking ghosts? Give it a decade and all this shit will be slumber party stories like they're supposed to be."

Jude scoffs and Kaz - unflappable, dry Kaz - is annoyed enough to get up in his face.  Madhuri presses her cheek to the table as they bicker, hoping to flush away the heat prickling under her skin.  

Vampires don’t exist.  Werewolves don’t exist.  Chudails and vetala don’t exist.  Kaz is right - they’re stupid stories invented to scare people into staying indoors after dark.  A submission tactic wrapped up in pointy nails and blood soaked ribbons.  Carlisle is just stupidly talented at sports on top of medicine.  That’s it.

It has to be.

The thing Madhuri hates most about going from nights to days is that it’s pitch black out when she’s done work.  

Early mornings are beautiful be it here or Toronto.  The hazy lilac sky somehow always manages to pull all the shift’s stresses right out of her the second she exits the hospital doors, giving her a chance to breathe in the unique, dewy air that sticks around just long enough to welcome first light.  No matter how many times her blood pressure skyrockets because of Carlisle, or how depressed she feels in the quiet moments when there’s nothing to distract her from the loneliness of this foreign land, the morning takes all that away for the clouds to bear instead.

Late night, though, is stifling and sticks to her skin as she hurries across the parking lot.  In Toronto, her worries included getting jumped in the parking garage; in Forks, they’ve downgraded to getting bit by a rabid raccoon, but tonight the paranoia prickling away at her is all Toronto.

“Stupid Jude,” she mutters aloud, just to drown out the haunting rustle of leaves.  “God, I’m gonna knock his-”

A car beeps.  She pauses short of her Toyota, scanning the lot for the source.  In the same way that most uni students have their unofficially assigned seats, most doctors have their unofficially designated parking spots.  Jude's Acura is nowhere to be seen, and Kaz's BMW is silent next to hers.  No Reyna, no Gerandy; Snow's Range Rover is right there, and beside it - 

A Mercedes.  The only Mercedes in town, in fact.

Carlisle.

She should get in her car.  The key is already in the lock.  All she has to do is turn it, get in, lock the doors, and get the hell out of dodge before he notices she's there and tries to strike up a conversation.  

Her feet have a mind of their own, so instead Madhuri's halfway to the Mercedes and snapping at him before she can stop herself.

"Oi, Carlisle! Hold up! Fuck a bone, I have an entire skeleton to pick with you."

“Dr Sehgal? What-”

“Madhuri, stop with this whole ‘Dr Sehgal’ shit.  What’s your problem, huh?”

Carlisle gapes in the most GQ cover way possible, lips slightly parted and eyes only marginally wider than usual.  “My...problem? I’m afraid I don’t understand, have I done something to offend you?”

“Something to offend - teri pehn di.  Okay, gunner, on the off chance you’re serious, let me lay it out for you: why the hell do you keep jacking everybody’s cases? Seriously!” She stops short of poking him in the chest, instead planting her hands on her hips and scowling viciously.

As if her subconscious has decided that the night provides a safe enough shroud to do so, Madhuri can’t help but look at Carlisle with a lens she rarely dons outside of the hospital.  Once they’re on, though, it’s almost impossible not to notice things.  How his skin is paler than the people she’s pronounced dead on arrival from massive blood loss, and how the chill wafting off him is not unlike that of the mortuary fridges she loads their bodies in after.  If she were to hold up her penlight right now, his pupils will clock in at four - they’re always a four, be it under harsh LED surgical lighting or the faint yellow flicker of the streetlamp nearby.  What grips the base of her spine in a cold vice, though, are his shoulders. 

They rise and fall steadily, every four seconds on the dot.

The worst-best kept secret in healthcare is sixteen resps per minute.  So perfectly within normal limits that nobody is ever actually sixteen resps per minute, and if they are, it’s never going to be consistent.  

Every vital sign is that of a dead man walking.

“Is this about Miss Stanley?” Carlisle guesses, ripping her out of the vortex of thoughts. “I apologize for that, I know you were paged-”

“No, oh my God! Well, yes, actually, but no! Listen.” Madhuri rubs her face roughly, slipping back into the combative, unyielding armour forged and hardened in Ontario’s bloodiest trauma centers.  “Fucking hell, we get it, okay? Gerandy thinks you’re the second coming and the only reason this hospital’s still standing.  Snow would hand you the keys to the ER if he could, and pretty much everybody else is Team Carlisle Is God, or whatever, but the rest of us are just kind of pissed off at this point ‘cause we’re not in fucking med school anymore, yeah? 

“Even if we were in residency this would be a shit move but we’d get it ‘cause training hours.  Thing is, this is a small town and not a lot of cases come through here.  We all wanna practice our craft and there’s nothing wrong with helping out of your specialty if it’s requested, but you just steal everybody’s.  Reyna’s C-section, Jude’s cath, my entire ER.  None of us even know what fucking service you’re on so it’s hard to get mad at you ‘cause we don’t even know what to get mad about! We’ve sacrificed all of our twenties to perfect our craft, and then we spent another half-decade being the bitch for every attending with a chip in their shoulder, and now that we’re finally free to do what we love, you just-! Ugh!”

Carlisle’s still slack-jawed - as slack-jawed as he can get, anyway - which gives her a second to catch her breath and calm her racing heart.

“Dr Sehgal - Madhuri,” he pronounces carefully, trying and failing to roll the ‘r’ the right way, “I am, first and foremost, deeply sorry for-”

She throws up a hand.  “Do not use the ‘patient voice’ with me.  The only thing I hate more than karele di sabji is fakeness.”

Carlisle nods, leaning his hip against the door of his car.  “Surgery.”

“Huh?”

“You asked for my specialty.  General surgery.”

Her mouth rounds into an ‘o’.  “Well shit, that kinda makes sense.  The C-section, anyway, and cath...I mean, I guess that counts ‘cause it’s invasive, but everything after that? Why are you in the ER so much?”

“In the interest of fairness, I will answer your question if you answer one of mine.”

“Alright, shoot.”

“Why leave your prestigious trauma fellowship in Toronto’s most challenging emergency room for Forks?”

Madhuri stiffens.  “I didn’t.  This is my first year-”

“As chief physician, I had to approve your transfer request,” Carlisle informs her, a faint glimmer of amusement lighting up his usually placid features, “I know you took an optional second year and came here to complete it.  I will not force you to answer if you’re truly uncomfortable, but I must say, given our similar backgrounds, I’m rather curious as to why.”

“Professional differences,” she asserts tightly, “I’m not easy to get along with.  Back to you.  Why my ER?”

He looks up thoughtfully, searching for an answer amongst the stars.  With only five thousand of the four hundred billion in the galaxy visible to them, the chances of what he’s looking for being right there are so infinitesimal that she has to swallow a bitter laugh.  One day he’ll learn.  He’ll go searching deeper and deeper into the farthest reaches of the Milky Way, so lost in the wispy ends that by the time he finds what he needs, it’ll be too late. 

Stars are always nothing but black holes when you get to them.  Disappointments.

“I practiced in Chicago prior to moving here, and as much as I vehemently defend that decision as one of the best of my existence, I cannot deny that sometimes I miss the emergencies the way they presented there.”

“No time to think, just do,” she summarizes, “Done with one-”

“Move to the next.  Help out wherever you see a hand is needed.” Carlisle tilts his head just so, murmuring his next words.  “If I had to postulate, I would say that you assume I offer to help out in the emergency room so much because I believe you to be an incompetant physician.  You could not possibly be further from the truth; although, in retrospect I can see why you would think so.  Your previous attending did mention that your belligerence, coupled with your penchant for acting without regard for consequences, made you difficult to work with.  I would argue that those are simply traits inherent to your specialty.  You’re rather the opposite when it matters most - I’ve been here a few years longer than you, and in that time the only other person I can recall Kazimir developing a deep fondness for as quickly as you is Jude.  Dr Mukherjee, if I may be frank, either purposefully or unintentionally neglected to mention that when we spoke.”

For once, Madhuri is stunned into silence.  

Ronit painting her as some sort of raging bitch who clawed her way out from the deepest pits of hell comes as no surprise since, for the most part, he’s not wrong.  She won’t lie and say that having the sort of reputation that has med students performing blood rituals to avoid rotations with her hurts, but if the trade-off is that nobody dares to take advantage of her then she will proudly carry it around her neck with her stethoscope for the world to see.

Carlisle of all people seeing past all that, going so far as to compliment her, is what gives her pause.  The blinding fury in her veins ebbs, and all traces of fear over his maybe-not-being-human temporarily dries up so something new can settle into those empty places; not quite confusion, not quite warmth, but close enough that she regards him in a different light.

“So you’re in the ER all the time because you think I’m not a bitch to work with?” she surmises, furrowing her brow.  Carlisle brushes his upper lip with his thumb in a terrible attempt to hide a little smile, shaking his head.

“Not the words I would use, but I suppose that’s an apt way of putting it.  Primarily, it’s because the emergency room environment is somewhat more peaceful than the operating theatre.  I can provide the hands-on care that drove me into this field in the first place.  My ulterior motive...I dislike speaking poorly of my colleagues, but the fact remains that you, Kazimir, and Jude are some of the only physicians at the hospital who refuse to treat me like some sort of deity.  I can trust that if you agree with me, it’s because you agree with the logic I present and not simply because I’m the one presenting it.”

In a deranged, depressing way, his rationale is so perfectly understandable it sends a wave of discomfit through her gut.  Everything in life is give-and-take.  The more you have to offer, the more people will want to take.  Stupid people don't try and hide the fact that they want to take from you, but smart people take their time and trade little favours until they get what they came for.  The stupid people wind up being business associates and the smart people become your friends.

People in Forks don’t fall in the latter category, else they’d realize the doctor they defer to like peasants to their monarch in centuries past is just a man trying to do his job and live his life.  Oh, there’s no convincing her out of her ‘he’s a vampire’ theory, but his unlife is still sort of just that - a life.  Maybe not the life most people get to live, but it’s one he’s making the most out of.

“You know, surgeons have a reputation of their own.  Control freaks with an ego dense enough to double as a black hole if it gets big enough.  I’ve worked with a lot of those assholes - Ronit included - and I gotta say, you are as opposite as it gets,” she proclaims, her legendary obstinance dripping from every word.  “If I had to peg you for anything, I’d say heme-onc or peds - what’s so funny?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Carlisle assures with a wave that doesn’t assure her at all because if there’s anything Madhuri’s learned in the two minutes since she’s decided they’re going to be friends, it’s that Carlisle Cullen is a godawful liar.

Sweeping his wallet in poker is going to be the best.

“Uh-huh.  Anyway, I’m not going to say sorry for blowing up at you-”

“There’s no reason to apologize when all you were doing was voicing your concerns.”

“Okay, again with the ‘patient voice’.  If we’re going to be friends, you need to not be so distant all the time.”

This time, it’s Carlisle who’s stunned.

“Friends?” He says the word the same way he says her name.  Foreign on his tongue, hesitant on the ‘r’, like he’s never spoken it out loud before.

“Friends.  Like you said, this entire hospital treats you like you’re some sort of deity and that makes it kinda hard to know who’s really your friend because they like you or because they like being known as the person who befriended Carlisle Cullen.  You don’t have to worry about that with me ‘cause I still think you’re a pretentious ass, but I also think Kaz is and look at us now.”

“Why?” he inquires.  Curiousity burns fiercely in those inhuman golden eyes of his, and as much as looking them dead-on has every evolutionary advantage conferred to her prehistoric ancestors working on overdrive, demanding she run far and fast, Madhuri forces herself to meet his gaze.

“I’m stuck here in this weird ass country with weird ass laws and I have nobody here.  Most people tolerate me just fine ‘cause I’m a doctor and they think if they cozy up to me they’ll get free medical advice or gossip on who I treat, but nobody wants to be my friend.  Not even the doctors here, since I’m just some uptight big city girl who’s gonna get her fix and fuck off after a year.  Kaz and Jude don’t give a shit, and we all annoy each other enough that we balance out.”

Against her will, she feels a genuine smile tug at her lips, affection settling over her like peace on rainy Sundays, sipping chai and chasing raindrops on her windows.  Jude wasted no time in declaring her his new best friend since they both hailed from metropolitan hubs, and while Kaz was standoffish at first, they quickly bonded over their favourite shared activity of bullying Jude.

Forks is one of those things that constantly flips between her list of regrets and things she’s grateful for, but when she thinks about those two, there’s no doubt in her mind that leaving her fellowship in Toronto to come here was the single best decision of her life.

“Friends,” Carlisle echoes once more, “I...would like that.  Thank you.”

Madhuri shrugs and holds out her hand.  “You won’t be thanking me when Jude convinces you to let him take your car for a joy-ride.  He’s got such a hard-on for it that we’ve passed the four hour mark and he needs it aspirated.”

Reflexively, he moves to return the gesture, jerking to a stop when he’s halfway there.  Madhuri cocks her head in a challenge: I’m not budging, bud.

Carlisle maintains eye contact as he closes the gap and clasps her hand, gauging her reaction.  All she does is hum and nod to herself.  Just as she expected - he’s a little colder than anticipated but it’s not too different from a dead body.  The only real shocker is how hard his skin is.  Rigor mortis? But he’s got exceptional dexterity, so that can’t be it.

“You know, I don’t really like lying to my friends,” she begins conversationally, giving an experimental squeeze.  His grip stays lax even as hers turns bone-crushing.  

“I take it this means I’m going to learn why you transferred here, then?”

“Not even my mom knows why, get in line.  No, this is a bit more serious.  Or not, depends on how stupid you think we are, but, like you said, in the interest of fairness.” Madhuri takes a deep breath and remarks in the most blasé tone she can muster, “Jude and I are totally Team Carlisle Is A Vampire.  Kaz is currently betting on you being the capo for the Washington branch of the Camorra, but if you’re, like, a vampire mafioso, we’d all technically be right.”

Carlisle stills.  If his pupils could dilate, Madhuri has no doubt they’d be full blown eight right about now.  

“That...is an interesting, if not wildly inaccurate, theory-”

“Carlisle, if I gotta tell you to stop doing the ‘patient voice’ one more time, I’m gonna make you drink holy water,” Madhuri interrupts, grinning wryly.  “You were nice enough to not make me spill the beans on why I left, so I won’t force you to confirm or deny.  Jude will probably also leave you alone if you let him take that thing for a ride.  Kaz doesn’t care.  We are the best kind of plausible deniability.”

Because you could kill us if we tried to talk and we wouldn’t be able to stop you.

Because we’re all entitled to keeping our secrets safe instead of being forced to use them to unlock doors.

“Well! It’s late, you probably have a bunch of reading to do, and I need to exfoliate.  If you’re not busy stealing my pages tomorrow, we play Go Fish in the lounge.  See you there!”

Madhuri drops his hand and wheels around, ignoring every instinct screaming for her not to turn her back on him as she walks away with her heart pulsing from head to toe.  

To her surprise, Kaz is in his BMW, watching her with unfathomably dark eyes.  His gaze flicks to the passenger side, and the message is clear: get in.  Huffing, she slides into her seat and barely has a chance to shut the door behind her before they lock.

“He is totally a vampire.”

“Zatknis’,” he snaps so harshly it makes her jerk back.  

Kaz is a lot of things; easy to piss off isn’t one of them.  With an emotional scale permanently lodged between ‘apathetic’ and ‘vaguely annoyed’, seeing him express anything stronger than outright irritation is rarer than all the planets aligning.  Right now he’s gone and shot past all that to cold anger and the only thing she can begin to compare it to is Pluto completing a revolution of the sun.

“Oh, are we doing the ‘be pissed in other languages’ thing? I can do that, too.  Bhad me jao.  See? That was fun.”

“You’re an idiot.  Who confronts someone in the middle of the night with nobody around as witness?”

“You were a witness, weren’t you? Besides, I thought you were Team Human Capo.”

“This isn’t about-”

“Then why get pissy? He’s harmless! We’re friends now.  Unless.” She shoots him a pointed look.  “Unless you think he’s not human.”

Kaz’s outward frustration perfectly mirrors the kind running rampant internally for her.  He means well but the ease with which he slipped into lecture-mode makes her want to ram his head through the dash so he knows she is not some dainty princess in need of a guard-dog.

“Carlisle Cullen being a vampire is the last thing I care about,” he grumbles, tightening his fingers around the steering wheel until his knuckles turn white.  Outside, the vampire in question has long since slipped his hands into his pockets and resumed his ramrod straight stance, observing them keenly.  

Madhuri, in a fit of bizarre courage and a desperate need to prove a point, says, “Carlisle, nod if you weren’t gonna suck me like a Kool-Aid on a hot day so Kaz stops being a bitch.”

She’s quite proud to say she doesn’t scream victory or I fucking knew it when, after a beat, Carlisle nods.  She does, however, smack her best friend in the arm and give her newest friend a thumbs up. 

“See? Harmless.  Now I’m gonna drive home and sleep this off.  He’ll be joining us for Go Fish tomorrow.”

“You’re coming back to mine tonight,” Kaz says, booking no room for argument.  He finally ends his weird staring contest with Carlisle and faces her, expressionless as usual.  “Or I’m coming back to yours.  Take your pick.”

Given that her living room easily passes for a hurricane ‘after’ photo in NatGeo and her bedroom is currently hosting sentient week-old laundry, Madhuri wisely opts for his place.  

“So, Kazimir,” she starts after he’s peeled out of the parking lot, “Are you Team Vampire or-”

“Chup kar.”

“Since when the fuck do you speak Hindi? Kaz! Pull over right the fuck now! How many times have you heard me cussing you out and known exactly what I was saying? Kaz? Kazimir, stop smirking, this isn’t funny!”

Madhuri Sehgal (Vidya Balan)

Kazimir Voronin (Danila Kozlovsky)

Jude Donnell (Simon Baker)

Akhil Sehgal (Siddhant Chaturvedi)

Chapter Text

act i: inertia

On Tuesday, Chief Charlie Swan purchases a fishing rod.

Generally this isn’t something worth more than his passive notice, but Charlie Swan bought the newest AiRRUS Tradition rod two months ago and, as far as he knows, there’ve been no recalls or customer complaints regarding it.  Strike one.

Strike two: the rod he drops on the counter is glitzy, purple, and only ever sold to six-year-olds being forced to go fishing for the first time.

Mike Newton is officially intrigued.

“Either you’re trying to keep the guys from stealing your rod or I should be saying congratulations,” Mike jokes.

Charlie flushes.  “No, no.  My...well, you remember Bella?”

Isabella Marie Swan.  Brown hair, brown eyes, nose perpetually buried in a book.  He has a barely-there memory of inviting her to play tag the summer before fifth grade - her running away to hide under the slide in response effectively shut down any further attempts at befriending her.  It didn’t exactly bother him because she only ever visited for about two weeks a year anyway and there was no point in investing time into somebody who never stuck around long enough to develop a rapport with.

Karen Newton had been annoyed at his indifference at the time, but eventually decided she would find her in with the reticent Chief on her own.

“Bella! Yeah, how’s she doing?” Mike asks politely, resting his hand on the register like he’s about to cash him out.  Over the years, he’s found that people are more likely to give him information if he pretends to pause in the middle of an action.  The implication that whatever it is they’re saying is important enough to capture his undivided attention boosts their ego and loosens their lips.  

This has yet to work on the Chief - until now.  His eyes light up, and Mike mentally begins to dust off his file on Isabella.

“Great! My, uh - Renée, she got remarried recently and her new husband, he plays baseball, travels a lot.  Bella decided to move back here to finish high school to avoid being on the road in her final years,” Charlie explains, drumming his fingers on the fishing rod between them.  If this were anybody else he'd dismiss it as an absent action but this is Chief Charlie Swan and he doesn’t do absent.  This is him bursting at the seams with delight, so high on the feeling that he doesn’t notice Mike slip in to collect the pieces he’s more interested in.

“Oh, that’s awesome! I’ll be happy to show her around when she gets here.  It’s already September, though, so she’ll be a late arrival won’t she?” 

“They still gotta wrap things up in Arizona with the house and all, so she’ll be joining for the second semester.”

After Christmas, then.  That’s plenty of time to offhandedly mention this to Jess, who will proceed to spread the news with the efficiency of a tornado siren and get the right people talking, giving Mike the perfect opportunity to listen in on the gossip and brush up on all things Isabella.

Bella, he corrects, he calls her Bella.  At least I don’t have to poke around for a nickname.

“Cool! I’ll keep an eye out for her, don’t worry.  Though, um, I guess my first task would be letting you know this is a fishing rod for under-tens,” Mike says, smiling when Charlie does a double take and chuckles awkwardly, scratching his beard.

“Ah, hell...you know, last time she was here, she was small enough to use this kind of fishing rod.  Guess I forgot how long it’s been.”

“Well, in that case, Chief, let me help you pick out the perfect one - on us.” Mike winks, shushing his protests with a wave.  “Call it a welcome home present from the Newtons’.”

One week later on the thirteenth, Edward Cullen purchases a space heater.

The Cullens are weird.  Even Mike, who doesn't particularly care about where somebody clocks in on the weirdness scale so long as they're returning customers, is willing to admit that.  Maybe not openly - not until he knows a person's stance on them, anyway - but privately? The fact that he can tell that one of them is in the store without even looking says it all.

Oh, he knows the rumours: they're vampires, cultists, made men; according to Jess, the latest idea is that the Cullens are all felons under witness protection faking it as a family.  It explains everything from their mind-boggling riches to their refusal to interact with the rest of the town, but the one thing it doesn't explain is what's kept Mike in the vampire camp since the first tent was pitched.

Karen Newton never asked him to be their friend.  In fact, she explicitly instructed him to stay "far the fuck away", and this is the same woman who told him to befriend Jessica goddamn Stanley full-well knowing that her father, Vincenzo Lombardi, headed the Washington Cosa Nostra.  A Harvard educated businesswoman with two degrees under her belt, his mother has never once shied away from shady business connections.  The second Mike was deemed old enough to handle the locals, Karen Newton turned her attention back to her more lucrative ventures, the sort that have her constantly skirting the very edges of legal loopholes and the frayed ends of his sanity.  Nothing short of supernatural fuckery will keep her from adding another thread to her social web, so, naturally, he can only conclude that they're not human.

It's not like they try to hide it.  If this is their version of subtle then they're all huffing glue or whatever it is that gets vampires off, because this is the most piss-poor attempt at blending in since the cockroach alien from Men In Black.  They come in like clockwork once a month to stock up on camping supplies and it's almost as if they're systemically ticking off boxes on the checklist posted by the front door for first-time campers instead of getting things they actually need.  They'll buy sleeping bags, but never dried rations; stock up on heavy-duty flashlights and completely ignore the batteries; grab a pack of water purification pills instead of bottles with inbuilt purifiers like all the advanced campers do.  

Mike thinks he should be disturbed by that revelation, but to him it's just another bullet point for the Cullen files alongside Alice being clairvoyant and Edward being a mindreader.

Alice Cullen’s clairvoyance is apparently a divisive topic amongst the witches in town.  The general consensus is that, yes, she has a degree of precognition but whether she can truly see the future or is just temporarily gaining access to a person's psyche and witnessing their intended version of events is up for debate.  

Edward Cullen’s mind reading, on the other hand, is pretty straightforward: he can only 'read' what's immediately being thought of, like subtitles on a TV screen.  Mike is very careful to focus on the things teenage boys are supposed to whenever he's around: girls, homework, or sports.  Since there's no reason to be thinking of any of that right now, he decides to laser in on the space heater as Edward strides up to the counter.

Man, a space heater in the middle of September? Aren't we due for a heat wave soon? These guys are gonna melt like popsicles…

Edward poorly smothers a smirk.  Mike barely stops himself from rolling his eyes.

"Is that all?" he asks, punching it in because he already knows the answer.

"Yes," Edward replies coolly, holding up a sleek black card between his index and middle fingers.  "I will be paying with this."

The infamous invite-only Amex Black Card.  Supposedly, the average owner's yearly expenditures are somewhere north of two-fifty and the annual fee is a pretty five grand.  Jess had been scandalized beyond belief the first time she saw one of them whip it out to pay for a sleeping bag at the store.

"It's so tacky," she'd hissed the second the door closed behind Edward.  "Who uses their Centurion for a sleeping bag? Papà got invited to get one and he declined because those things are just so unnecessary.  Like, talk about needing to compensate for something, ugh."

Although Mike didn't point out that Vincenzo likely refused to get one because it would basically be Christmas for the Feds trying to trace his money laundering, he did agree with her.  Karen never used her Centurion on the store let alone in Forks, preferring to pull it out for her other businesses - the ones she doesn't trust him with.

Yet.

"Need a receipt?"

"No," Edward says, tucking the heater under his arm and heading for the exit without a goodbye.  He passes the MREs, the first aid supplies, and just as he's about to grab the handle-

Speaking of heat waves, Bella Swan must be sweating like crazy in Arizona.  She'll probably enjoy how cold Forks is when she gets here in January.

Edward stiffens.  Mike grins.  

Bingo.

Chapter Text

act i: inertia

"Should I be concerned that you called me?"

"What, I can't call my brother now?"

"Well, considering the last time you called it was because you got shot by that one idiot in Portland and needed a patch-up…"

"I haven't been shot."

"Ah, even worse, then.  Cancer?"

Kaz pinches the bridge of his nose.  "No.  For God's sake, think before you speak."

"Hey, Dyadya Mikhail died of lung cancer.  That stuff is genetic, isn't it?"

"Dyadya Mikhail smoked two packs a day and chewed tobacco like his life depended on it.  No, I am fine.  No illness, no injury," he says, flipping his wipers on the slowest setting to combat the light drizzle.  Early morning fog hangs low to the ground, so thick his headlights barely cut through to illuminate Madhuri's front porch.  He glances at the dash clock with a slight frown.  Maybe that's why she's running late - she can't see him parked outside.

Or, a more insidious part of him whispers, Cullen decided to tie up a loose end.

"-had dirty, filthy sex in a confession booth while beating his ass with a riding crop."

"What the fuck?" Kaz pulls his phone back to gape at the tiny screen.  His brother laughs so loud it's deafening even at an arm's length and nearly two hundred and fifty kilometers between them.  

"So you weren't paying attention."

"I was," he argues, "I was...distracted."

And hell if that isn't putting it politely.  Distracted is how he felt the night he caught Madhuri hosting a therapy session in a dark parking lot with that bastard.  He’s long since shot past any rational emotion straight to pissed the fuck off: at her for being so stupid; at Cullen for crossing the invisible line they all pretend isn’t drawn in neon green; and, more importantly, at himself for clearly losing all common sense and finally putting some stock in the whole ‘Cullen’s a vampire’ thing that he’s spent a good two years deriding.

Jude’s clearly finally worn him down.  That, or he’s right about them lacing the water supply with LSD.  A bad trip would explain everything.

“Distracted? You? Now I’m really worried.  Unless...oh, ho, now I get it.  What’s her name?”

“Not about a girl.” Technically, it’s about a girl and a boy.  

“Uh-huh.  What’s his name, then?”

Shit.  

Thankfully, Madhuri chooses right then to rush out the front door and down the steps, slipping on the last one ass-first into a patch of mud at the bottom.  He has a hasty goodbye on his lips that fades into a weary sigh when she shoots him a thumbs up and shouts, “I’m good! Stay in, I’m good!”

“Shura, I don’t have much time.  Look into someone for me: Carlisle Cullen.  Associations include Esme, Edward, Alice, Emmett, and Rosalie and Jasper Hale,” Kaz says quickly.

“Cullen? That’s Irish.  You’re not having trouble with the Mob down there are you?” Shura’s tone loses all traces of levity, swept away by a coldness that reminds him of winters spent at their Novosibirsk property as children.  

“No, he’s not with them.  I just…” He trails off, struggling to find a word somewhere between worried and perturbed.  Kaz is neither so paranoid he runs background checks on anybody he thinks looks at him funny, nor is he so egotistical that he believes his reputation will always keep him safe.  It’s a delicate balance to strike but he does it perfectly, due in part to the fact that Kazimir Rodionovich Voronin does not worry.

Except for when he does.  For Shura, out of fear for his life and the guilt of knowing he’s to blame for putting him in that position to begin with.  For Jude, because his carefree attitude is as much a permanent source of stress as it is the counterweight to his burdens.  And now for Madhuri, whose stubborn streak will send him straight to his grave sometime in the next decade.

As the girl in question smears mud all over his freshly detailed leather seats, he settles for, “I have a hunch.”

“Good enough for me.  I’ll get it to you soon.”

“You know, one day I’m going to know enough Russian to listen in on all your conversations, but for now: dobryi den’ whoever you are!” She cups her hands around her mouth to make herself louder.  Kaz looks heavenward while Shura bursts into laughter.

“Oh, she is cute.  Hello, gorgeous!”

He snaps the phone shut and levels her with a flat expression.  “It’s 5:30 in the morning.”

She looks up from wiping the raindrops off her glasses, squinting to make out his face.  “Okay, and?”

“You said good afternoon.”

“Ah, dammit.  They really need to release Russian for Dummies sooner so I can stop relying on badly translated movies.”

“What the hell did you watch?”

“Well, War and Peace obviously, and then The Irony of Fate.  I think they’re airing The Cranes Are Flying tonight! Jude said the trailer looked super fun,” she chirps, completely oblivious to the creeping horror her words invoke.  

Two months before Madhuri joined them, Jude decided to drag him to a hospital-sponsored screening of Old Yeller because the poster had, quote, “the cutest damn dog on it”.  Of course, said cute dog completely distracted Jude from the note taped underneath stating that the movie was being shown as part of rabies awareness week.  Kaz still remembers how hot the awkward stares felt on his back as he half-carried the sobbing cardiologist out of the auditorium so the keynote speaker could get a word in.  

Jude on his own is a handful and then some, but Jude and Madhuri together? Dread doesn’t so much sink in as it does shred at his periphery like thumbscrews.  Kaz shakes his head, backing out of her driveway, and wonders just what he’s done to warrant such a specific brand of torture.

When Kaz first broke the news of his employment at Forks to Shura, it was after several fingers of whiskey and enough vodka to kill the elephant crushing his chest.  His older brother had stared at him blankly before leaving the room, only to return five minutes later with two glasses of starka in hand and a curious glint in his black eyes.

“Why Forks, Kazimir? After all this, why somewhere so unremarkable?”

At the time, all he could do was shrug and down the glass, choking on every pithy excuse that’d been floating around since he’d submitted his application.

Shura, though, Shura knows Kaz better than God knows his own creation, so he kept quiet and handed him a key to a bungalow three days later because Shura might never understand him - why he gave up his title and ran straight for the army, paying his own way through medical school, and now Forks - but if Kaz asks, Shura will do without question.

Truth is, Forks being unremarkable is exactly its drawing point.  After all this - being able to go to work for simple appendectomies between rounds of Go Fish with two people he thinks might be his best friends is suturing together the bits and pieces of Kaz back into Kazimir.

Except now there’s Cullen.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna join us for a round?” Madhuri asks again.

Cullen looks up from the same three sheets of paperwork he’s been shuffling through since this morning, meeting Kaz’s pitch black glare over her head, and shakes his head with a sardonic little smile.

“No, I’m just finishing up some work.”

Jude purses his lips and mutters, “Kaz, any fours?”

Normally, he’d cheat and deadpan ‘Go Fish’ but Jude’s been oddly subdued ever since Madhuri dropped Cullen into her favourite spinny chair - the one she once tried to fist-fight him for sitting in it - and declared him their newest best friend, so Kaz silently hands over his four and picks up a new card.  

Queen of Hearts.  

He slips the card between two fingers, holding it parallel to the horizon right where Cullen’s neck meets his collar.  

Off with his head.

One day.

A pager’s incessant beeping breaks him out of the fantasy.  Madhuri and Jude stare at him for ten seconds too long and then it hits that it’s his pager going off for once.  Cullen’s already up and waiting by the door, the very picture of patience as Kaz storms by without so much as a nod.

There are five people waiting for them in the ER and that’s five people too many as far as he’s concerned.  One of the nurses opens her mouth and snaps it shut just as fast when he wordlessly gestures for his intubation kit.

“We think it was a car accident,” she babbles, watching him slip on a pair of gloves and assess the patient - or what he thinks is the patient because he’s fairly certain this body is either dead or a little less than a second away from being called.

Kaz snaps open the laryngoscope, hesitating with one hand on their mangled jaw.  Even the most cocky gunner would take one look and openly admit getting a tube in normally is out of the question.  He’s managed impossible intubations before but there’s no way to get the scope in with an airway this compromised.  

Clicking his tongue against his teeth, he drops the scope on the table and presses his fingers against the patient’s throat to locate the cricothyroid membrane, barking, “Iodine and drape.”

“I can get the airway orotracheally,” Cullen offers.  The only things keeping Kaz from ramming the scalpel through his throat instead of the patient’s are his tenuous grasp of ethics and the fact that there are witnesses around.

“Dr Cullen can! I’ve seen him-”

“One person in this room spent seven years as a combat medic, did a five year anaesthesiology residency, and then a one year fellowship in critical care anaesthesiology,” Kaz cuts the nurse off in a tone that leaves no room for argument, threading the tube down the patient’s throat smoothly.  “One person.”

The temperature in the room drops when he locks eyes with Cullen, making none of his usual effort to hide the glacial edge underlying every word as he asserts, “That person is not Dr Cullen.  Get me an OR.”

"That was not a fucking car accident," Madhuri declares after when they've reconvened in the lounge.  Jude's absent, probably busy with one cardiac issue or another, so it's just the three of them seated at the round table.  

They’d paged for Madhuri shortly after scrubbing in, having silently come to the agreement that whatever the hell it was that Cullen specialized in wouldn’t cut it with a trauma this complex.  Being the first time he’d ever worked alongside her in the OR, Kaz hadn’t been prepared for the solemn, commanding hurricane that’d swept into the theatre and immediately assumed control.  He shoots little glances her way periodically, searching for some remnant of that entity in the terse lines of her face; when he can’t find it, he wonders how she hides it so well.

"I agree," Cullen says, tension simmering under his calm façade.  "I don't wish to alarm you, but-"

"Animal attack," Kaz interrupts, "Last time we saw this, the official report was an animal attack."

Madhuri snorts in disbelief.  "Animal attack? Yeah, and my last name's actually Dixit.  Who the fuck would believe that?" 

Imperceptibly, her fingers tremble around the pen she taps on the table, expression purposefully lax to distract casual observers from all the other signs of distress bleeding out of her.

Kaz is not a casual observer.

There haven’t been a lot of bad calls since he started working here but the one or two that went south had zero casualties thanks to quick thinking, tenacity, and sheer stubbornness.  They’d walked into the OR expecting much of the same and left with one more ghost to add to the dozens of others who called their nightmares home.

He’s never seen Madhuri deal with death before but there are only so many ways to dance to the same song.  

“It is the very nature of humanity to reject the irrational even if it is ultimately correct,” Cullen comments, “One piece is enough to disrupt the pattern, but if it can be otherwise overlooked…”

“Like why everybody just thinks you have anaemia instead of you being all…” She curls her index fingers near her mouth to make fangs.  

“Officially, this will be declared a bear attack,” he continues, “Unofficially...I don’t believe it’s quite as clear cut.”

Kaz cups his own jaw, splaying his fingers over sharp features and pausing in the places he recalls were crushed in the patient.  With blood oozing everywhere and shattered bones mangling his facial muscles it’s easy to assume that he’d smashed his face against a steering wheel, but if his fingers were just a bit smaller and angled a little deeper it’s almost like his face had been crushed instead...

“I have Wolff Parkinson White Syndrome and coffee!” Jude announces cheerfully, balancing three paper cups in one hand as he opens the door with the other.  He pauses when he reaches the table, taking in the grim atmosphere, and the grin slides right off his face.  “Oh, shit, that ER call-”

“I’m going to assume you don’t have Wolff Parkinson or we’re going to have problems in about two seconds,” Kaz interjects, reaching out to grab two of the cups, one of which he slides to Madhuri.  

Taking the hint, Jude drops into the empty seat on his other side and says, “Nah, my patient.  Easy ablation scheduled for this weekend.  Anyway, even if I did have WPW I’m sure between you and Mads you could figure out how to zap me back to normal - er, and Cullen, too.  I would’ve brought you some if I’d known you’d still be here.”

“Not a problem.  I, ah, have a particular diet to follow.”

“Caffeine-free? Jesus, somebody better put me out of my misery if I ever get to that point.”

“Hey, holy shit, is this from that coffee maker in the break room?” Madhuri demands.  Jude nods, and she stares at the cup in equal parts disgust and awe.  

“Dude, how? That thing spits out sludge every time I use it!”

Jude’s eyes twinkle like sunlight peeking through the canopies.  “Magic.”

“Kazimir, didn’t expect to see you here.” 

Cullen inclines his head as he walks past, continuing to the morgue fridge on the other side of the room.  From where he leans against one of the gurneys, Kaz watches him open the only occupied drawer and pull out their patient, tugging the white sheet off his face.

His intact face.  

“Would you pass me a body bag?” Cullen asks, boring into him with hawkish yellow eyes.  

Kaz crouches down to grab one of the black bags stacked beneath the gurney and silently moves to hand it over.  He wants to blame the chill that fissions down his spine on the open fridge door, but it sinks into parts of him that even the coldest Russian winters could never reach.  It creeps closer and closer, until it brushes up against the deepest parts of his psyche and he’s forced to admit it has nothing to do with the fridge and everything to do with the patient staring up at him.

He didn't even have eyeballs when he was brought in.  Just gaping sockets full of vitreous fluid running down the broken edges of his face in a mockery of tears.  

"The venom takes three days to take effect," Cullen informs him in a low voice, "He's paralyzed while his body fixes itself.  The process is excruciating.  Normally there's a lot of screaming, but I think you managed to push him with sedatives just in time."

"Doubt it.  At some point the human body can't register any more pain.  You check out."

"I suppose.  Is the incinerator on tonight?"

Kaz stiffens.  "No."

Cullen hums, drumming his fingers on the steel table, deep in thought.  He takes the chance to examine the blond keenly, searching for any trace of a wrinkle, a scar, or a line on his face that says he's aged at all in the last hundred years.

"I looked into that family you mentioned.  I don't know if this is some elaborate prank to waste my time but you got me.  They've tried their best to burn their paper trail but their spending habits don't exactly do them any favours.  You said Carlisle Cullen only moved here three years ago?"

"Yes."

"Are you positive he has no other family there? Even in the past?"

"My sources here say there's never been anybody with that last name here before they arrived."

"You trust them?"

"There are three thousand people in this town, Shura.  Everybody knows everybody."

"Well, somebody's lying to you because the Cullens were in Forks several decades ago."

"Decades?"

"1936 to be precise.  Carlisle, Esme, Edward, Rosalie, and Emmett.  They fled within about six months of arriving."

"I wouldn’t do this if I had any other choice.  We’re already too noticeable and moving right now will prove a hassle.  Otherwise, he’s exactly the type of person I would save," Carlisle divulges, wheeling a gurney over and snapping open the body bag.  He lays it out flat on top and unzips it.  

"Like Edward Masen," Kaz says, unflinching even when Cullen turns those predator-sharp eyes on him.  

"Edward Cullen was one of the easier ones to figure out.  He's the sole inheritor to a family fortune that...somehow cashes out every fifty years to its descendents."

"Somehow? What do you mean?"

"Well, those descendents shouldn't exist.  The Masen family was wiped out in 1918 during the Spanish Flu.  Edward Masen included."

"Edward was my first.  I was a doctor during the height of the flu in Chicago.  His mother made me promise to save his life, and I seldom break my vows," Cullen says.  Effortlessly, he transfers their patient to the body bag, taking great care to arrange his limbs so it looks like he's sleeping.  

Kaz is on autopilot as he folds the white sheet, closes the fridge, and rips the ID slip out of the little plastic sleeve on the door, tucking it into his pocket after a quick read. 

Drew Farran.

Muscle memory is a wonderful, horrible thing.  It doesn’t matter that the last time he did this was half a decade ago; all it takes is the barest hint of deja vu for his mind and body to cross over to familiar, comforting numbness, leaving somebody not him on the other side of the line.  Whoever he is, he is capable, strong, and virtually indestructible.  Everything Kazimir is not.  

"The hospital will know if the incinerator is turned on."

"What do you suggest?"

All the usual methods are out.  A pity, because Forks is surrounded by beautiful, untouched lakes, and there's enough forest and wildlife to stump search parties when all they find is a decomposing deer where the cadaver dogs circle.  Three days isn't enough time to make use of acid, and he's never been particularly fond of that route, either - it takes way too much preparation.

"We take your car."

Cullen arches a brow.  "I can run faster than a car.  Tell me where we're going, I'll get us there."

"I will not be carried over your shoulder next to a dead body." Kaz shuts him down with a severe expression.  "Your car, Cullen.  Don't waste my time."

The parking lot is dark and deserted, and Cullen’s a beacon of paleness that can’t move fast enough to load the body in his trunk.  He slides into the passenger side and, noticing the Acura still parked next to his BMW, shoots off a text to Jude.

To: J

Time: 11:52 PM

My car keys are in my locker.  Make Madhuri drive my car back to her place, you follow in yours.

From: J

Time: 11:52 PM

??

From: J 

Time: 11:52 PM

ok I guess? u good?

To: J

Time: 11:53 PM

Fine.

“Where am I driving us?”

“The river nearby.”

“We don’t drown.”

“But you burn.” He slips the phone into his jacket pocket, touching the matchbook to reassure himself it’s still there.  “Drive.”

Two minutes into the twelve minute drive, Cullen breaks the heavy silence.  “This isn’t your first time.”

“I don’t generally burn corpses, no.”

“No, I mean…” He trails off, searching the darkness all around them for the right words.  “This isn’t your first time disposing of a body.”

“Not yours either,” Kaz counters coldly, “I assume it comes with the territory, however for a ‘family’ that does its best to play nuclear, you all have an exceptionally high body count.  I spent all day trying to figure out who was number one.  The Chicago Prowler - of course, you know him as Edward.”

“Charles Evensen was found exsanguinated in 1927.  He was married to an Esme Evensen, who attempted suicide around the same time; her body went missing before the family could claim it.  What followed shortly thereafter was a string of copy-cat murders in the Chicago area that stopped around 1931.”

“Rosalie? They always suspect the spouse in these cases, but since she took out his friends they mustn’t have given it much thought.”

“Rosalie Hale was a high profile socialite engaged to Royce King.  He reported her missing and was murdered not long after, as were a number of his associates.  They never found her, but they did find her engagement ring shoved down his throat during the autopsy.”

“Or maybe Emmett.  He seems to have caused you the most trouble.”

“Emmett McCarty’s family claimed he disappeared in 1935, the same time that the Cullen’s were in their town, and until 1936 when they moved to Forks, documents indicate that the Cullen’s bounced from state to state every three months on average.”

“If I had to guess, it would be the confederate.”

“Jasper Hale might actually be Jasper Whitlock.  He used that name once in 1950 but then switched to Hale.  He was a confederate soldier, major, was assumed a turncoat after he vanished in the 1860’s.  I can’t say for certain what he did in the hundred or so years before he assumed the identity of Jasper Hale.”

“But the supposed clairvoyant of yours - very easy to dupe the cops if you know their every move.”

“Around the time Alice Cullen started popping up, Mary Alice Brandon vanished from the asylum in which she was being held.  It’s a stretch, but everything about this is so bizarre that it checks out.  She was in for witchcraft - precognition to be exact.”

“You’ve been around long enough that there are no records, so tell me, Cullen.” Kaz injects each word with a fatal dose of venom.  “Where do you fall?”

“I’ve never drank human blood,” he asserts, “We sustain ourselves on animals.  It’s not nearly as fulfilling as human blood, which is what we’re biologically driven to, so there are initially some...accidents.  Not for all of us - Esme and myself, for example - but my children have had a significantly harder time adjusting.”

“Accidents,” Kaz echoes, hardly able to comprehend what he’s hearing.  “You call murder an accident.”

Cullen sighs wearily.  He’s not sure if it’s just the dim cabin playing tricks on him, but when Cullen finally turns his head, there’s half a millennium’s worth of lives looking back at him.  “What do you call it? Are you a murderer, Kazimir? Do you - tell me: where do you fall?”

Yes, he wants to snap, yes, I am.

“I don’t pretend to be something I’m not,” he lies, almost sagging in relief when the mouth of the trail comes into view.  

“I wish we had that option but we don’t.  They mourn.  They try their best to repent.  We have no choice but to move on and do better.”

“You have a choice,” he retorts as he exits the car and slams the door shut.  “It’s the same one you’re making for this one.”

He doesn’t wait for Cullen to get the body.  Instead, he brisk-walks down the trail to try and burn off some of the wrath making knots of his senses.  His nails bite into his palms until the skin grows slick with something other than sweat, but he only clenches tighter.  If he flexes his fingers now, they’ll be too unsteady to light the matchstick later.

“Where do you fall?”

Kaz and the Other have shared a body so long that it can’t even be described as symbiotic anymore.  That would imply that the Other confers a benefit beyond letting him pretend they’re not the same person when his hands - the hands that are supposed to take people to the brink of death and back again - snatch life after life out of the universe with little regard for how the sky dims a little more each time.  

Shura often says it’s the price they pay to keep living.  Kaz is too jaded for empty platitudes - a killer is a killer no matter how you pretty it up.

"I did try at first," Cullen reveals, appearing next to him in a blink.  Gone is any pretense at humanity and compassion; in its place is an eerily calm aura that reminds him of his own father.  "I was the son of a pastor as a human, so I grew up with rather conflicting values: murder is a sin, but killing a witch doesn't count.  Suicide is a sin, but if you were one of the creatures we hunted, killing yourself was a mercy.”

"So you tried to kill yourself."

"Many times.  We cannot suffocate or drown.  Our limbs will fuse back after being ripped off, and it is nearly impossible to break our skin let alone bones.  Venom courses through us in lieu of blood, and starvation will only leave us a primitive husk - our senses are so sharp that eventually we will find a blood source to sate ourselves.  Where do I put him?" Cullen asks as they approach the river.  

Kaz scans the bank carefully, searching for a patch of dirt far enough from the dry grass that it won't accidentally spark a forest fire.  After a beat, he gestures to a spot and discreetly dries  his palms on his pants while Cullen gently deposits the body on the ground, breaking off a matchstick just as he rises and walks a few paces away.

"We won't need gas," he guesses, striking a match and holding it over the body.  

"No.  The venom makes us rather flammable.  Be careful, there ought to be enough in him to-"

Kaz drops the matchstick and narrowly avoids having his eyebrows singed off when the body bursts into flame.

"Light up quickly," he finishes lamely, "This shouldn't take too long."

"You used to hunt vampires.  You knew what you needed to do." Kaz's tone takes on a mocking edge, "Were you that afraid for your soul?"

Cullen sags.  Visibly sags.  Under what, he'll never know - the centuries he should never have lived to see? The bodies his creations drop at his feet, offerings to a false God who wants neither the bloodshed nor the responsibility? Or perhaps the weight of his own cowardice has broken free of whatever trappings he used to bear the brunt of it - but whatever it is, it grabs him by the shoulders and forces him to bow to the flames, the unnatural purple tinge of the fire darkening the shadows rimming his tired eyes.

"It's rather selfish to say, but yes.  I was already damned for what I had become.  To kill myself wouldn't be a mercy - it would simply damn me further."

“So you became a doctor to atone where death failed to do so." Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Cullen’s head snap up.  Kaz keeps his gaze steadfastly on the fire, half-afraid that if he looks up all he’ll see is his own reflection staring back.

Glaza boyatsya, a ruki delayu, his father’s voice is as clear in his head as it was the first time he said it nearly thirty years ago.  Never take a life lightly, Kazimir.  This fear you feel? Remember it each time.  One day it will be your friend.  The sooner you get over these ridiculous altruistic fantasies of yours, the sooner it will happen and you can do this without crying like a baby.  Look at Shura! 

Forgive me, otets, he closes eyes reflexively, waiting for the burn that’s not happened in nearly ten years.  I don’t think we can ever be friends.

"If I am to live forever, then the very least I can do is make sure I spend my time doing good to make up for all that I am," Cullen replies, tilting his head curiously.  "Is that why you do it, then?"

Kaz shakes his head.  Satisfied with how low the flames have gotten, he closes the gap between them and stops just short of Cullen.  They’re roughly the same height, but where Cullen is svelte and lean, Kaz carries an extra fifty pounds of muscle that tense to the point of tetany the longer he stays within spitting distance, hyper-aware that the panther-like ease with which Cullen assesses him is merely for his own comfort.  

One fist clenched around the matchbook like it’s the smooth handle of his Glock, he angles his chin low and warns, “I don’t care how indestructible you claim to be.  Madhuri, for some godforsaken reason, trusts you.  If I find out any of your kind have jeopardized her or Jude’s safety, it is your life that will be forfeit.  Mark my words, Carlisle Cullen - there is not a place on Earth you and your lot can run to that I will be unable to follow.”

“So long as it is simply mine that is forfeit,” Cullen affirms, holding his hand out.  “My family doesn’t deserve to suffer for my sins.”

“By your logic, they already are.” He turns on his heel and struts off, instructing him over his shoulder, "Throw the ashes into the river when it's done.  I'm walking back alone."

"You didn’t answer me earlier: you don't believe you need to atone?" Cullen calls.

"I've already tried.  Much like you, I couldn't finish what I started," Kaz murmurs, knowing he'll hear every word perfectly.  "Unlike you, I'm not nearly selfish and stupid enough to believe that doing this will balance it out in the end."

"You look like shit," Jude proclaims as he swings the door open and gives him a once-over.

"Says the guy with shit on his face," he retorts, shoving past him into the foyer.  He lines his shoes up with the others on the mat and tosses his coat over the back of the designated coat chair.

"It's not shit! It's a - Mads, what'd you call it again?"

"Multani mitti! I dunno what you call it in English but it has an English name.  It's like a clay mask.  Kaz, get your ass in here and put some on! Also, the menu screen for this movie is in Russian and I need you to translate!"

"She really does," Jude confirms with wide-eyed panic.  "'Cause her Russian-to-English dictionary said that one of the warnings was character death and after the rabies movie-"

Kaz shuts him up with a gentle shove to the head.  Immediately, he draws his hand back and stares at his slick fingers in disgust.

"What the hell."

"Coconut oil.  Mads did the most amazing head massage with it, you gotta let her do you.  It'll make all that-" The cardiologist pokes the bags under his eyes.  "Disappear."

"Highly doubt it," Kaz deadpans, but allows Jude to steer him to where Madhuri is camped out on the sofa in the tiny living room, donning a matching mask and sleek braid draped over one shoulder.  She takes one look at him, wrinkles her nose, and pats the ground in front of her with a foot.

"Stress will kill you one day, y'know? Especially if it's that visible on your face.  Juju, consult to confirm!"

Jude collapses on the sofa next to her and snatches the bowl of popcorn out of her lap.  "Consult received.  Can confirm, will kill.  Treatment? Head massage and Russian cinema."

“How about we skip the movie about the impact of the second world war on the Soviet Union and watch something that won’t send Jude to the psych department,” he counters, settling down on the cushion Jude drops on the floor between Madhuri’s legs.  He holds his hand up until she hands him the remote, flipping through the channels as she begins rubbing warm coconut oil into his head.

“Do we even have a psych department?”

“Hell no, you barely have a cath lab, you think they can shell out for a psychiatrist?”

“Hey, don’t come for my cath lab when your ED is held together by surgical glue and a prayer.”

“Here,” Kaz interrupts loudly, unwilling to let an argument start entirely because her fingers are starting to put him to sleep and he gets to rest so rarely he’ll take whatever he can get.  “Advokat.  It’ll blow your Boston Legal out of the water.”

“This is James Spader slander and I will not stand for it,” Jude declares.

“Good thing you’re sitting, hm?” Kaz bites back a little grin when he responds by digging his toes into his ribs.

“You suck.”

Madhuri tugs his hair lightly.  “Play the thing, Kazimir, or I’m going to ukusit’ you.”

There’s a quip about her terrible Russian on his tongue, but it’s too heavy in his mouth and all his lips want to do is part so he can exhale softly.  He fights to keep his eyes open and head steady but loses on both fronts, resting his temple against one of her knees as his lids slide shut.  Distantly, he thinks she grumbles about oil stains on her sweatpants; hears Jude laugh and ask her where she keeps her blankets, and Kaz knows.

Kaz knows that he deserves none of this, but he is a selfish, selfish man and won’t let go.

Shura Voronin (Daniil Strakhov)

Chapter Text

act i: inertia

The first time Jessica Stanley meets Isabella Swan is a muggy July afternoon in 1997.

Buffy the Vampire Slayer has been out for exactly five months and Jess has spent all one hundred and twenty-five days since the pilot begging her mom to let her get Buffy’s haircut.  Technically, she’s not even supposed to be watching the show because there’s vampires and other creepy cult-things, but her mom’s out most of the day and nonna is fast asleep by the time it starts airing, so she’s completely up to date and will die if she doesn’t get the flippy bangs before school starts.

Turns out flippy bangs are stupid and TV totally lies because there’s no way Buffy’s slaying vampires and smooching Angel with those things falling in her eyes all the time.

“Mike, I don’t wanna be ‘it’ any more!” Jess whines, stomping her pink plastic heels on the ground.  “I’ve been ‘it’, like, five times already!”

“It’s ‘cause you’re slow,” Erik Yorkie chirps.

“I’m in heels!”

She stomps her feet again for emphasis.  That’s the other thing TV totally lied about: Buffy slaying vampires in heels.  Sure she has the Chosen One powers or whatever, but the Chosen One powers only mean you can kick butt harder and heal up faster.  It’s not like heels existed back in ancient times when the Slayer line first started.

“You can just run barefoot,” Mike suggests.  Jess stares at him until he frowns and asks, “What? If your feet hurt then just take your shoes off, Jess.”

“You suck,” she informs him, “I’m going to go sit in the shade until you both suck less.”

With that, she spins around and struts off for the playground, ignoring Mike and Eric’s grumblings.  She ducks under the double-slide where the shade is thickest and the mulch doesn’t burn through her capris when she sits down.  

After a beat, she kicks off her shoes and flexes her toes, eyeing the bright red blisters sourly.

Buffy sucks.

Jess pushes her flippy bangs out of her eyes, huffing when they fall back, limp and oily even though she washes them every morning before school.  As desperate as she is to cut them off and be done with it, she refuses to because that’s exactly what Eli said she’d do the day she got them.  Lombardi girls never cave, as nonna says.

If she caves, it’s because she’s part Stanley, something nonna never lets her forget.

So the flippy bangs stay.

“Um...do you need a band-aid?”

“Huh?” Jess whips her head around, astonished to find another person in her hiding spot.  “When did you get here?”

The girl, who looks around her age, holds the book she’s reading between them like a shield.  “I didn’t want to play tag.  Don’t tell I’m here.”

Oh, right.  Mike had gone to recruit some other kids to play so it wasn’t just the three of them.  He’d returned with Tyler Crowley and Ella Jiang in tow so she’d assumed they were the only other kids at the park.  

“I won’t.  I’m Jess, by the way.  Jess Stanley.” She sticks her hand out like her mom does, elbow locked and fingers pressed together tightly.  The girl flinches and stares at her hand until Jess drops it.

“Bella,” she whispers finally, “Bella Swan.”

“Oh, are you related to Chief Swan?”

“He’s my dad.”

“Really? How come I’ve never seen you around before? I go to Forks Elementary School and my teacher’s Mrs Biers.  Are you in somebody else’s class?” Jess asks in a rapid-fire.  

Bella looks about ready to pass out just to avoid answering her.  Jess rights herself, having leaned over at some point, and takes a deep breath.  Mrs Biers is always going on about her being a chatty-cathy, making it a point to note on her report card that she needs to learn to listen to others instead of dominating every group project she’s put in.

“My parents are divorced.  I live with my mom in Arizona.”

“Ooooh, okay,  My parents are kinda divorced too.  Separated, but my nonna says that’s just getting divorced for people who don’t wanna pay alimony.  My dad lives in Seattle.  He’s got a big business there so he can’t visit often.  I live with my mom here ‘cause of work.  She’s like Scully on The X-Files except, like, she doesn’t hunt aliens or whatever.” Jess perks up, eyeing her newest friend curiously.  “Do you like The X-Files?”

“No.”

“Oh.  Do you like Buffy?”

“I don’t really watch TV.  I prefer reading,” she explains, fiddling with the page she’s stuck on until it tears a little.

Jess holds her bangs out of her eyes so she can read the title.  “‘Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone’.  I think I saw a column in the newspaper about this.  Wasn’t it ‘Sorcerer’s Stone’, though?”

At least one of the words she said is the magic one because Bella actually smiles, the first hints of life lighting up her big brown eyes.  

“‘Sorcerer’s’ is the title they’re using when they release it in the US next year, but my librarian got me this copy from the UK where they call it ‘Philosopher’s’.  It’s a really good book, have you ever read it?”

“No.” Not yet, anyway.  

“You should! It’s about witches and wizards who go to magical school and get into all sorts of trouble.  Right now, they’re fighting a troll in the bathroom,” Bella says, holding the book for her to read.  Jess doesn’t really care about the witches or the troll, but she leans over to read the passage anyway.

Her bangs fall in her eyes again.  Jess is about ten seconds away from ripping them out of her head, Lombardi blood be damned, when Bella pulls a headband out of her hair and offers it to her, ducking her head shyly.

“This will keep your bangs out of the way.”

Jess slips it on and reads without actually reading, half-afraid that she’ll freak the other girl out if she looks up with the grin she feels ripping her cheeks in two.  

Suck that, Mrs Biers.  I made a friend while being a chatty-cathy!

“Bella! Hey, Bells, where are you? It’s time to go!”

Bella snatches the book back and stands up, dusting the mulch off the back of her pants.  Jess scrambles to her feet so quickly her head spins, bracing herself against the back of the slide so she doesn’t fall over.

“I gotta go.  Bye, Jess.”

“Will you be here tomorrow?” Jess asks eagerly.

“I don’t know.  Maybe?”

“Oh, um...wait one second.” She hobbles a few feet forward, wincing as the wood chips dig into the swollen blisters on her toes, and grabs her heels off the floor.  She snaps one of the glittery purple plastic butterflies off the thick strap, shuffling over slowly to give it to Bella.

“For the headband! This way if I don’t see you tomorrow, you have col-colla-” She struggles with the word her mom says on the phone a lot when she’s eavesdropping instead of sleeping.  

Bella takes pity on her.  “Collateral.”

“Yeah! Collateral.  So if I don’t see you tomorrow, then when you come next summer, we can trade!”

“Okay.  Thanks, Jess.  Bye.”

Just then, another voice calls: “Kid, we’ve talked about this.  Out where my eyeballs can see you!”

Jess sticks her tongue out and shouts back, “Whatever, Eli!”

Jess doesn’t see Bella the summer of 1998, even though she visits the park every day with her own copy of Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone in her little backpack.  She doesn’t see her the summer of 1999 either, but she reads Chamber of Secrets and Prisoner of Azkaban just in case she’s there next year.

Bella doesn’t show.

In fact, the next time Jess Stanley meets Bella Swan, it’s a damp, foggy January morning in 2005.

Jess touches her headband, adjusting it so the ends don’t bite into the backs of her ears, and sighs for the millionth time since this morning.

Mike waits until their Business Law teacher is facing the blackboard to lean over and whisper, “I know this class is boring but if you keep this up, you’re gonna get in trouble.”

“I know,” Jess replies irritably, keeping her gaze firmly on the board so she can copy the notes.

“Then why the-” Mike imitates her sigh.

“My period started and I’m tired.”

“Liar.”

“Fine.  I stayed up last night rewatching the Angel finale.”

“Liar again.  You hated the finale.”

Whoever made the pen in her hand deserves a Nobel Peace Prize for engineering.  Her fingers are bone-white on the rubber grip and the nib rips through the page at one point, but the stupid thing doesn’t break.  She wonders if it’d stay in one piece if she rams it through Mike’s hand drumming away near her binder.  Probably.

“I’m just-” Jess purses her lips when Ms Lynton looks their way.  The former DA is the closest thing her mom has to a best friend and will totally rat her out for goofing off in class.  When she moves on, Jess continues in a low voice, “Kinda excited.  For Trig.”

“Trig,” Mike says flatly.

“Trig.  And all the, um...SOHCAHTOA.”

“Right.”

Mike knows she’s lying because Mike knows everything about everyone in Forks.  

Well.  Most things about everyone in Forks.

Jess practically runs to Trig the second the bell rings.  Mr Varner does a double-take when she arrives first and takes her seat.  Jess is never first for Trig.  He glances out the window, searching for a thunderstorm of hail and fire; when he finds none, he shakes his head and flips through the lesson plan on his desk.

Ella waves hello when she passes, a gesture she’s slow to return because she’s so focused on the people ambling through the door.  Alice Cullen does her bizarre little dance thing all the way to the back of the room, perfectly out of tune with the jerky, robotic gait of her boyfriend.  

Jasper Hale stares at her, and Jess stares back, head held high.  She doesn’t so much as ooze satisfaction as she does wrap it around herself like a cloak of victory when he breaks eye contact.

Lombardi girls never cave.

It’s only when everybody is seated that the first pang of stress latches onto her throat.  Bella’s a no-show.  Did Mike get the date wrong? Was she supposed to come tomorrow instead? Or next week? Next year even though it’s already been seven?

No.  That’s impossible.  Mike gets a lot of things right, like her dad being the head of the Washington outfit, but he also gets a lot of things wrong, like her mom being a dirty fed in his pocket.  That makes perfect sense, though, because not even Karen freaking Newton knows and she’s never led either of them to believe otherwise.  What Mike never gets wrong is small stuff like this.  If he says Bella is coming back today, then she’s coming back today.

Still, Jess braces herself for the all-too-familiar riptide of disappointment to carry her away to that lonely little isle she’s made her second home.  

Then, somebody trips over the stupid raised strip of wood on the floor of the doorframe.  

Bella hasn’t changed at all.  It’s almost as if the physical embodiment of puberty just pulled her arms and legs out a little bit, shaved a couple pads of baby fat off her face, and called it a day.  Jess crosses one leg over the other, eyeing her Uggs critically as Bella goes over to Mr Varner.

Nonna says the older she gets, the more she looks like her mom.  She says this with as much contempt as an old Sicilian woman can muster (which is a hell of a lot, mind you) and it’s never really bothered Jess until right this second.  Now, this isn’t to say that she wishes she still had Buffy’s bangs or those demonic plastic heels Eli had oh-so-graciously burned when she got back from the park that day - because Jessica Stanley is seventeen goddamn years old and refuses to dress a day younger - but her mom wears sensible, unpatterned blouses and thinks skinny jeans are the reason society is going to shit.  

Maybe she should’ve worn her House colours.  A little nod, an invitation to start the conversation she was promised seven years ago.  

Mr Varner says her name, dragging out of her mental closet and the blue shirts she’s stuck between.  He points to the empty chair next to her, and Bella dutifully follows his finger, taking a seat.  

“Hi! It’s Jess - Jess Stanley? From the park.  Like, a long time ago: you gave me a headband, I gave you a butterfly…? Totally don’t blame you if you don’t remember that but it’s nice to see you again!”

Bella hums, barely glancing her way other than to acknowledge that she knows she’s sitting there and has heard her.

Her smile fades just a bit, the tiniest crack in her favourite mask.  

No matter.  She’s probably the studious sort.  Or she sucks at math just like her because she’s a bookworm and everybody knows if you’re good at English, you can’t be good at math and vice versa.  They can bond over that later.  Maybe in a study group? 

Determination flushes through her veins, the pressure so intense it forces the slump out of her shoulders.  Yes.  A study group.  She’ll wait until after class and ask if she wants to do the homework together after school.  

“So, what do you have next?” Jess inquires once the bell rings.  

Bella looks at her timetable mournfully.  “Spanish.”

She’s not a praying woman even though nonna forces her to go to Church every Sunday, but in that moment she is totally convinced the Big G up top is rooting for her.

“No way! I have Spanish right now! I’ll walk you over,” she offers excitedly.

“Oh, cool.  Thanks,” Bella mutters, waiting for her to lead the way.

“So, trig totally sucks.  I have no idea how Hermione did Arithmancy on top of all the extra subjects in her third year - did you ever get around to reading the other books? I’ve got the fourth one pre-ordered,” she babbles.  

Bella just nods absently.  Jess’s mouth runs dry, tongue sticking to the floor of her jaw, making it impossible to speak.  

Did she say something wrong? Mike is always telling her she needs to stop running her mouth before it gets her stuck somewhere she can't escape, and Eric frequently echoes his sentiments.  Angela’s more liable to do a strip-tease while singing Genie In A Bottle than say anything disparaging about anyone, and Lauren hates her too much to be honest.

Mrs Biers’ report card springs to mind.  Allow others to speak instead of dominating every group project or conversation.

Jess clears her throat, having found her voice somewhere between the lockers and the Spanish classroom.  “Do you wanna do trig homework together after school? You’re only a couple days late in the semester but I can help you catch up.  Or Ella can, ‘cause she’s way better at this than I am.”

“Sure, sounds good.”

Spanish is a bore.  Profesora Cruz decides to start the class off with a five page long pop ‘quiz’ not a single person has studied for or is remotely awake enough to bullshit their way through.  Being fluent in both Sicilian and Italian (thank you, nonna), it takes her about fifteen minutes to finish the quiz, five of which are spent making sure she didn’t accidentally slip up and start writing conjugations in Italian instead of Spanish.  While Profesora has her attention focused on Eric, notorious for his cheat sheet feats in the class, Jess slides her test over so Bella can copy her answers.

She does without a single ‘thank you’ or smile.

Jess hopes lunch will be better.  It’s her first day, after all.  She thinks back to the shy girl who ran away from Mike in 1997 and nearly keeled over when she tried to shake hands with her, relaxing marginally.  That’s it.  Poor Bella’s probably on auto-pilot just to get through the day without needing to visit Dr Sehgal in the ER for a heart attack.  

Mike doesn’t even look at her when they reach their lunch table.  Instead, he pulls out a chair and winks at Bella.

“If it isn’t Bel-la! How’s it going? Sit! Sit and tell us all about day one.”

“Point five of day one,” Eric interjects.  Beside him, Tyler snorts.

“That’s so stupid.  And pedantic.”

“You know what was stupid? And pedantic? That Spanish test.  Hey, Bella, how’d you do?”

“It was easy,” she drones, taking the seat.  Mike slips in next to her, and just like that, all the chairs are gone.

Stiffly, with her head lowered to avoid the overly judgy eyes of the seniors nearby, Jess makes her way over to one of the unoccupied tables to borrow a chair.  She wipes her clammy hands on her jeans so she can get an actual grip, taking a second to breathe just like Eli taught her as a child.  

In and out, Jess, in and out, big breaths, he’d barked, his tone at odds with the gentle way he’d cradled her as he ran to the car.  You keep breathing, Jessica Stanley.  I don’t care how swollen your throat gets, I’ll hit you with another epi and you keep breathing.

She shifts her tote to a more secure spot on her shoulder in order to pick up the chair, and the EpiPen tucked in the outside pocket presses into her side as if it were Eli’s hand instead.  Subconsciously, she straightens her back, jutting her chin defiantly.  Lombardi girls never cave.

Head held high, Jess flips her curls back and struts over to the table purposefully.  She plonks her chair down next to Angela, ignoring her curious gaze and Eric’s guffaws as he pokes Mike, chortling, “You’re in trouble!” over and over again.

“So, Bella, has Mike bored you to death already?” she asks sweetly, stabbing her gnocchi aggressively.  The bottle in his hand slips.  

Good.  We have a deal, Michael Newton.  Don’t you dare forget it.

“Not really,” Bella says, shrugging.  

Mike jumps at the opening.  “Aw, see! I told you I’d grow on you!”

“Yeah.  Like a fungus,” Eric says.  Tyler smacks him in the chest with the back of his hand a couple times, adding, “Or a slime mold.”

“Or a slimy fungus mold.”

“Those are the same thing, doofus,” Lauren mutters.  The blonde is more dour than usual; an impressive feat given the miasma that normally clings to her directly violates the Geneva Protocol.  

“Actually, I’m pretty sure they were reclassified as their own thing,” Bella informs them.  

The gnocchi feels like rubber in her mouth.  She chews methodically, forcing it and the bitter sauce past the pin-prick hole in her throat.  Christ, there’s no way nonna made this.  It must’ve been Tony or one of the other guys on the weekend detail, the ones who are sixth or seventh generation Italian-American and think their secret sauce can cure cancer.  

“Are you taking bio? That’s a bio fact for sure, ‘cause who else would know that,” Mike says.  

“Mhm.  Bio II.  After lunch.” 

“I have it after lunch, too,” Angela says with a smile, “We can go together if you’d like.”

Lauren shoves a forkful of salad into her mouth, chomping angrily, and Jess wants to smack Mike upside that precious head of his so he remembers all those vital facts he’s so proud of.

Lauren’s in fucking AP Bio.  Of course she knows what a fucking slime mold is.

Bella seems a bit more engaged in the conversation now, responding to Mike’s carefully crafted questions, sharing inside looks with Angela, and preening when Eric and Tyler play dumb and ask her about some stupid book they’re reading in AP Lit.  Whenever Jess spots an in, however tiny it might be, she opens her mouth and snaps it shut just as quick when Mike or Eric or freaking Angela push her out of the way so they can take it.

Breathe, Jess.  Breathe.  You’re right here.  Breathe.

But she can’t.  She can’t for a second because this table is too crowded, too full, the edges closing in on her bit by bit, snatching the air out of her lungs as she feels herself be pinched off.

This is what happens when she doesn’t take over conversations.  This is what happens every single fucking time she shrinks herself to allow others in.  They push and push, slower than lava, and by the time she notices it’s too late because she’s trapped in a tomb made of igneous rock, choking on sulfuric acid.

Unless she makes a ruckus, they always forget she’s there.  They already have.

“Hey, um...Jess,” Bella says hesitantly, waiting for her to correct her with the right name.  “Who are they?”

Jess follows her line of sight to the cafeteria doors and immediately regrets it.  She knows The Rules, and yet she makes zero effort to mask the disdain frothing away in her chest.  

“Oh, them? They’re the Cullens,” Jess replies with false cheer, leaning over conspiratorially to whisper, “So, like, Dr and Mrs Cullen adopted them all a while back and moved here three years ago from Alaska or whatever.  They were homeschooled until high school.”

“The two blondes are Rosalie and Jasper Hale.  They’re twins,” Mike supplies, already gearing up to recite his Wikipedia entry on them.  Jess shuts him up with a glare.

“Thanks, Mike, I totally needed the refresher.  Anyway, the little black-haired girl is Alice, and she’s dating Jasper - majorly fucking weird, mind you-”

“Jess,” Angela says disapprovingly.

“What? Dude, it’s so weird.”

“They fucking live together,” Lauren says, voice thick with disgust.  “It’s weird.  I don’t care if it’s legal, it’s weird.”

Huh.  Jess hazards a glance out the bay window, wondering if that thunderstorm Mr Varner was banking on decided to show up late.  Shaking her head, she continues before Mike can take over again.

“Right, yeah, so she’s dating Jasper, and then that John Cena looking guy-”

“You can’t see me!” Eric and Tyler chorus, waving their hands in front of their faces.

“He’s Emmett.  He’s dating Rosalie.  The Hale’s are Mrs Cullen’s, like...niece and nephew or something like that.  Dr Cullen picked up Alice, Emmett, and Edward way later, so when they got married...love was in the air, I guess.”

“Edward?”

Jess tamps down on the tidal wave of hatred before it sweeps her over.  In and out, big breaths.  In and out.  In and out.

“Yeah, Edward Cullen.” She nods to the bastard in question as he joins his little gaggle of vampires.  “Don’t waste your time.  He thinks he’s better than everybody here.”

“He looks sad,” Bella comments.  A sick feeling settles in her gut, one she can’t blame on the gnocchi or the sauce or the reminder that she’s forgettable.  

She’s seen that look in Bella’s eyes once before.  That day in the park, when Jess was so sure she’d made a normal friend who didn’t want anything of her other than her opinion on Harry Potter.  Her eyes are lit up - alive.

Because of Edward Cullen.  

Jess typically spends about fifteen minutes by her locker at the end of the day catching up with her friends, and then another ten making plans for the weekend.  

Today, she’s one of the first people out of the building alongside Ella, who regards her warily.  She doesn’t blame her for thinking she’s some kind of doppelganger given this is the second time today she’s done something violently out of character.

Today’s a day for a lot of firsts it seems.

There are two black cars parked at the end of the lot in opposite corners.  She ignores the Sequoia and heads for the Charger.

Jules ends her staring contest with the man in the Sequoia, eyebrows shot up in surprise.  “You’re here early.  How was school?”

“Boring,” Jess says dully, snapping her seatbelt in place.  

“Boring is good,” Jules says, throwing one final glare at the Sequoia’s driver before heading for the exit.  “I don’t get why your dad keeps sending those operai of his to pick you up.  As if you’d get in with them…”

“I’m collateral, remember? He needs to make sure I’m not damaged.” She smiles bitterly in spite of herself.  Bella Swan might’ve taught her how to pronounce it, but Jess learned the meaning of the word the hard way, spelled out in blood that she still feels crusted under her fingernails a year later.

“Jessica-”

“Jess.” It doesn’t matter how many times she reminds them, they’ll all call her Jessica after a few days pass.  

“Jess, you know that’s not what…” Jules trails off, tapping a finger against the steering wheel.  “That’s not what you are.  You’re important.”

“I’m collateral,” she asserts, “I’m important because I’m collateral.”

Jules has no response because Jess has exactly one rule for anybody on her detail: never, ever lie to her about anything related to her.  

They pull up to the driveway a couple minutes later.  Jules holds out her badge for the guard at the front to examine.  He waves them in, muttering something into the radio clipped to his sleeve, and they come to a stop in front of the double garage.  Jess jumps out of the car, throwing Jules a hasty goodbye on her way to the porch.

The Stanley’s live in one of the more affluent parts of Forks, where the houses have two storey’s instead of the bungalows endemic to the rest of the town.  It’s also significantly more modern compared to houses nearby, equipped with all the latest appliances and outfitted with hardwood flooring that doesn’t creak underfoot.  Of all the things, they’d conceded with this one demand mom had made when she’d found out they were relocating; if she was going to be stuck out here in the middle of fucking nowhere, she would not be bereft of all the urban touches they were leaving behind in Seattle.

“Bon giornu, nonna,” Jess greets when she pops into the living room.

Her grandmother lowers her knitting to sniff, giving her a once over.  “What’s wrong with you?” she demands in rapid-fire Sicilian.  “You look like your mother does whenever Vincenzo’s visiting.”

Her dad’s not supposed to visit at all so the fact that he makes the trip once a year is a verified miracle in its own right.  The fact that mom makes sure the house is devoid of all her colleagues even though she’s supposed to report any contact with Vincenzo Lombardi to her boss is what elevates the whole thing to canonization - though who the saint is supposed to be in all this is up for debate.

“Nothing, just a bad day.”

“Tch, you don’t know what a bad day is.  I’ve been having a bad day every day since we moved out here.  Imagine living in a house crawling with feds.  I can’t trust a single thing in that kitchen unless I prepare it myself!”

Nonna starts up on her usual tirade, cursing the FBI and all the other three letter agencies out for her son’s blood, bemoaning the loss of her real family, as if Jess isn’t standing there, the product of her bloodline.

“Jessica!” Nonna snaps her fingers.  “Have you been listening? Normally I have to say talk less, but now? Not a peep.  What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing.”

“Testa ca ‘un parra si chiama cucuzza,” she grumbles, turning back to her knitting.  A dismissal.

She drops down next to her tote on the bed, staring ahead blankly.  In the vanity, her reflection stares back.  It tilts her head when she does, sighs soundlessly with her, and copies her raking motion through her hair. 

Her reflection rips out the headband.  Curly locks immediately fall into her eyes, the final curtain call signalling the masks to drop.

Jess flops down on her side, rolling over so her back is to the mirror.  Her hand slips into the crevice between the mattress and the bedframe, snagging a metal clip and tugging the ID card out.  Her fingers trace the laminated letters over and over again, relying on muscle memory when her vision blurs and all she can make out is the hazy blob of colours in the middle.

“Hey, Eli,” she croaks, barely above a whisper, “I met Bella again.  You were right.  She does suck.  Sorry you didn’t get to laugh at me for thinking she wouldn’t.”

Told you, kid.  Nobody who up and leaves like that is worth it.

“Yeah, yeah.  In one afternoon, she managed to steal the whole show.  It’s like I didn’t even exist.  I know Mike’s only friends with me ‘cause of papá and Eric and all them are friends with me because of him, but you’d think after eleven years they’d like me for me.”

Eli doesn’t respond.  Not because of Rule One - Eli was the exception to Rule One since he never once lied to her.  He’d tell her something like, “they suck, kid, don’t waste your breath on ‘em,” and show her how to throw knives (blunted) or shoot a target from a hundred feet away (BB gun).  Eli was always brutally honest with her and that’s why she loves him the most.  

Jess screams herself raw just for the world to remember she’s there, until she chokes on the blood in her throat, spits it out, and screams some more.  Eli never needed that; he could find her even if she was silent, before she even knew she was lost.  He’d been in her six for so long she couldn’t remember a life where he wasn’t an extension of her being.

Except she does now.  In the quiet moments when she’s not making her presence known, where people close in and forget she’s right there, she waits for Eli’s reassuring presence, leans into it…

And falls into a gaping void instead.  

Because that’s the thing about collaterals.  They’re impossible to isolate.  They have attachments, sometimes tiny enough to disappear without notice, sometimes so tightly bound that separation is out of the question.  If somebody's going to remove one they do it knowing they'll kill the other.

But Jessica Stanley is still alive.  

And Eli Castillo is still dead.

And it's all her fault.

No - it’s all Edward Cullen’s fucking fault.

Eli Castillo (Satiago Cabrera)

Chapter Text

act i: inertia

Emily Emily Emily so sorry Emily Emily Emily--

There's blood everywhere.  He has to burn the blood.  Burn the forest to the ground.  Burn himself from the inside out to get it off get her blood off Emily Emily Emily--

"I'm so sorry," he rasps.  "Emily.  Emily, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm - stay awake, please.  I'm gonna - look, look, I'm gonna fix this, stay awake."

In his arms (because he was still phased for ten seconds After and he can't he can't), Emily's bloody face lolls onto his shoulder.  She moans something.  His name? Leah? Leah.  She'll kill him.

If he doesn't kill himself first.

His head pounds, either her heartbeat or his heartbeat or maybe both because fuck this is what imprinting is, isn't it (does it matter we killed her we killed SHUT UP SHUT UP NO I CAN FIX THIS.) 

Hospital.  She needs a hospital.  Not the Rez one.  Sue's at the Rez hospital and she'll kill him if Leah doesn't kill him first (if he doesn't first.)

Forks.  Forks has to have a hospital.  

Sam hefts the weight of his sins higher and runs.

"I'm getting an itch."

"Should probably get that checked out.  Nothing to be ashamed of.  One in six people-" Kaz shuts up; not because he has a sense of self-preservation or anything, but because Madhuri holds up a copy of Critical Care Medicine that looks to be about a billion pages thick, sticky-tabs included.

"I'll hit you with this so hard that Shura'll have to glue the shattered bits of your teeth together to get a dental confirmation," she threatens.

Kaz rolls his eyes and goes back to editing, which is the most politically correct way to sum up the carnage being wrought upon the article before him.  She hopes the poor fucker who submitted it for peer review has a good therapy program through their hospital.  Or enough moonlight money to buy out whatever the American equivalent to the LCBO is.

The lounge door opens and both their heads snap up.  Carlisle saunters into the room, smiling brilliantly at them both in turn.  Madhuri waves her journal, and Kaz purposefully kicks his legs up on the empty chair beside him so Carlisle has to awkwardly change course for the empty spot next to her on the sofa.

Kaz's jaw tenses just a little, but he keeps his mouth shut and continues to bloody up the article.

Madhuri watches this go down and can't help but feel she's missing a whole bunch of neon signs.  

"I couldn't help but overhear - what are you getting an itch for?" Carlisle asks as he settles a couple files on his lap.

"Research itch.  We're trying to finish up as many CPD credits as we can and it's making me miss the publishing rush," she explains.

"I see.  How many times have you been published?"

"Eh, let's see...undergrad thesis, Masters thesis, med school, three times during residency...six total."

"You'll have to send them my way, if it's not too much trouble.  Why don't you do one now?"

Kaz snorts.  "On what? Animal attacks and how to treat them?"

"Propofol and prayers," she deadpans.

"Gauze and God."

"A 2x2 should do the trick.  Whaddya say, Carlisle?" She nudges him and immediately recoils, clutching her elbow to rub away the ache.  "Dude, why are you so hard?"

A beat.

She sighs.  "Kaz, just say it."

Kaz doesn't say it.  Instead, he nearly rips the page out of the staple holding the packet together and signs off on the death warrant.

"It's one of those…" Carlisle trails off with a slight grimace.  

"V-Word things?"

He nods.  In the two months since The Parking Lot Incident, Madhuri's learned three things: first, the Cullens are vampires (and Carlisle's still uncomfortable saying the word out loud); second, the entire town knows the Cullens are vampires (and they pretend not to because it's become a sort of a game at this point); and third, the witch who makes her morning latte absolutely uses magical coffee beans (because caffeine hasn't hit her this hard since she was fourteen.)

The last two points were generously imparted on her by Lucy, the witchy barista in question, alongside a monster sized box of doughnuts for Jude.

"So you're super hard and you drink...non-vegan tomato juice.  Which makes your eyes golden instead of all Sharingan-y," she lists off.  At his confusion, she elaborates, "It's from some stupid anime Jude and my brother are really into, don't worry about it.  Anyway, what else you got? How far off are the legends from the truth?"

Absently, she flips to the back of her notebook and clicks her pen, scrawling out a messy t-chart.  On the right, she notes down hard skin, red eyes (yellow, animal juice).  On the left, she scribbles down as many vampire tropes she can think of.  A million half-baked questions pool in her mouth, and she bites down on her tongue to keep them from spewing out.  

"You're O negative," Carlisle observes.

Madhuri chokes on her bloody spit.  "Holy shit, how'd you know that?"

He taps his nose, pausing with his finger still pressed to it.  "My apologies, I realize how weird that must sound.  I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

Part of her is well aware that this whole supernatural shitfest should've had her booking it for the relative safety of her shitty condo in Toronto the second she clued into it.  Ronit, and the disappointment heavy in mom and dad's gaze aside, at least none of her baggage there included fucking vampires.  She should feel uncomfortable sitting next to a dead man walking, discussing the colour of his eyes like they're in some sort of Hallmark Christmas special.  Admittedly, she is - just not when it matters.

She blames Kaz for it.  The cold panic that has her by the throat after every shift is clearly the result of his rampant paranoia, because how is it possible for proximity to Carlisle to make her feel the exact same incredulous, delirious high of the day she got her med school acceptance when the very thought of him not twenty-four hours later has her clawing at herself in the shower to try and make the unease go away?

"The only thing that makes me uncomfortable is the fact that I think this means you can smell when I'm on my period," she replies with (mostly) the truth.

Kaz's head thumps against the desk.  She commits the mumbled string of Russian to memory so she can ask Shura to translate later.  Although she's positive one of those words was 'fucking idiot', she wants to be sure before she puts salt in his coffee tomorrow.

"If it brings you any measure of comfort, blood is blood to me."

"It doesn't but that's so weirdly sweet of you I'm gonna give it a pass.  Okay, so, on that note: super smell and super hearing.  How sensitive are we talking compared to the upper and lower bounds of normal senses? Because if you can smell that I'm O-neg...can you smell the fucking Rhesus factor? And ABO antigens?" 

Carlisle's expression, glimmering with the first few notes of genuine excitement, abruptly shutters off.  His head snaps to the side, yellow eyes unfocused.  Shards of ice settle under her skin when she realizes he's looking in the direction of the ER.

"Something’s coming," she guesses.  

"Impossible," he murmurs, "It's been decades.  How could-?"

Madhuri's pager chimes, followed by Kaz's.  Carlisle's just starts to blare when Erika barrels through the door, nearly snapping it off its hinges.  Madhuri's up and halfway to the hallway before the CRNA can take a rattling breath to explain.

"Animal attack, guy brought in his girlfriend.  It's bad.  Dr Cullen, thank God, we didn't know if you'd get the page in time - you gotta go get the OR prepped for Dr Sehgal."  

Running isn't technically allowed in the hospital, so Madhuri walks at the same speed that got Usain Bolt to the Olympics.  There's a shift that occurs the closer they get to the ER, one that she likens to walking in a pool from shallow to deep without taking her feet off the floor.  Every step forward has her sinking further down, stripping her of every heavy thought and emotion, and allowing her to filter out Erika's gasped report for the relevant clinical information.

Guy brings girl into the ER.  Girl is unconscious and bleeding out.  Guy is so panicked he's lashing out and Snow can't help her unless he's out of the way.

Easy peasy.

Famous last words and all.

The first thing she notices is that Erika conveniently forgot to mention the guy is about six and a half feet tall, two hundred pounds of cut muscle with maybe five percent body fat, and very, very naked.  

Snow's tension melts into relief when he makes eye contact with her from across the room, where he and two other nurses are pressed against the wall.  She nearly misses Gerandy and Sarah leaning on a cot for support, both so white they blend in with the fluorescent lighting bouncing off the tiles.  She frowns briefly.  Why are they so spooked? Gerandy's seen worse, and Sarah used to do travel nursing so she's definitely had her fair share of combative patients.  Of all the people here, they should be the calmest.

"Hey, boss.  I'm Dr Sehgal, I'm a trauma fellow," she says, unflinching when he turns on her with wild abandon.

"Emily, you gotta help Emily."

"Where's - oh, I see."

See is one way of putting it.  Madhuri follows the trail of red footsteps from the door to the cot the guy hovers over, eyeing the blood pooling on the floor critically.  If she had to estimate, that's about a litre and a half gone - and that's being conservative, discounting the amount lost between the forest and the hospital, plus whatever is smeared down the guy's front.

“Hey, Emily? Can you hear me? My name’s Dr Sehgal, I’m gonna help you, alright?” she says loudly, slipping two fingers into her left hand.  “Open your eyes or squeeze my fingers if you can hear me.”

Nothing.  Pursing her lips, she slips on her stethoscope and presses the diaphragm to Emily’s chest.  The good news is her heart sounds as normal as can be under the circumstances.  The bad news is her right lung is whisper quiet - though she can’t say she’s surprised given the state of the poor girl.  Three gashes run from head to toe on the right side of her body, so deep in some places that yellow bits of fat poke out and she can name exactly which muscles have been bifurcated.  Scraps of fabric stick to her torso, and when she takes a closer look, she realizes that's where the guy’s clothes went.

“Tachy, decreased breath sounds on the right,” she reports, looping the stethoscope around her neck.  She pulls aside a blood-soaked strip of what might’ve once been jeans, takes one look at her torso, and says, “Need a chest X-ray to confirm but I’m thinking pneumothorax.  Hey, boss, what's your name?"

He looks like he doesn't even know he's human, but after a couple beats he responds, "Sam."

"Sam.  Okay, I'm gonna help Emily now but I need you to get back so the rest of my team can help me do that," she says steadily.

Sam shakes his head.  He shakes his whole body, so violently she prepares to catch him if he drops to the floor seizing.  

"No," he snarls, "Not - fuck, I can smell the - not her." 

Sarah presses a shaky hand to her mouth and stares at her feet, guilt rolling off her in palpable waves.  Madhuri looks down and swallows an expletive when she spots a syringe caked in blood.

"He was agitated-"

"Not enough to warrant B52.  Go see if the OR is ready."

Emily moans.  Sam lunges for her at the exact same instant Madhuri does.  

"Emily, oh God - you're gonna be okay, you're - the doctor's here, look," he whispers, his hands hovering over shredded flesh, unable to find a spot whole enough to comfort.

"You did this? Your clothes to stop the bleeding?" Madhuri inquires conversationally, making quick work of cutting off Emily's left pant leg to start a femoral line.  

Sam nods, too absorbed in his grief to pay her any attention.  She exchanges a significant look with Kaz, mouthing for him to join her.

"Nice job with that.  Saved her until you got here.  Hey, Sam, this is Dr Voronin, he's an anaesthesiologist.  I need him to come help.  He's gonna give Emily something so she's not in pain, and then we're gonna go down to the OR."

Sam glances at Kaz just long enough to see that he's not a threat and goes back to mumbling apologies in Emily's ear.

“I’m gonna E-FAST her, can you push fluids after getting a tube in?” Madhuri asks in a low voice.  Kaz nods, wheeling the portable ultrasound to her side on his way to the head of the gurney.  It’s the fastest dance in the world, this thing they do - her moving the wand around Emily’s belly and him weaving around her, in two different zones but so subconsciously aware of one another that they finish at the exact same time.

“I was right, she needs a chest tube,” she says, weighing her options for all of three seconds.  With Sam hovering and Snow too shaken up to function, her best bet is to get Emily into the theatre so she can do her job in peace.

"Sam, what's Emily's blood type, do you know?"

He takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly.  "A.  Maybe."

The ultrasound wand fumbles in her grip.

Why did he sniff the air? 

"OR's ready!" Sarah shouts.

Madhuri nods.  "Okay, Erika, when we get in there, draw some tubes and type and cross.  In the meantime, get me as much O-neg as possible and call in for more.  Let's go."

Sam stumbles after them like a lost child who only knows to find the north star and follow it home.  Madhuri shakes her head subtly when Kaz looks like he’s about to ask Sam to step away; there’s no point in causing a fuss when they’re already so close to the OR.  Frankly, if Sam derives any measure of comfort in the next two minutes just by being there then she’s willing to ignore the tiny voice in her head - the one that sounds exactly like Ronit - telling her there’s no room for softness in their line of work.

Three things happen when they get to the hallway leading to the OR: Carlisle exits the scrub room to meet them, Sam goes eerily still, and Kaz somehow gets between the two of them before she can force herself to move.

“You.” Sam’s guttural snarl tears into her so deep that she feels like she should be the one getting wheeled in, not Emily.

“Samuel,” Carlisle says carefully, “I know this isn’t...nobody could have anticipated this.”

“It’s your fault! You stay the fuck-”

Sam takes another step forward in spite of Kaz’s hand on his chest.  Kaz’s eyes widen and then narrow, his other hand flying up to hold him back.

“Not now.  She’s going to die if we don’t get her in there,” Kaz warns, drawing himself up to his full six feet so he can look Sam in the eye.  “Sam, not now.”

“Not him.  He’s not touching her.  Not the bloodsucker, he doesn’t fucking-”

Madhuri shakes herself out of her stupor, squaring her shoulders in determination.  “Sam,” she says calmly, “Look at me.  Look.”

Reluctantly, he meets her gaze, still half-turned to keep an eye on Carlisle, who keeps opening and closing his mouth like he can’t decide if saying something will make things better or worse.

“I’m in charge here.  Carlisle’s not even gonna be in the room, you hear me?” she assures him, wishing she could lean over and touch him on the shoulder, give him the comfort there’s no time for.  “Trust me.  Let me help her.”

“No leech,” he demands hoarsely, “He doesn’t get near her.”

“Promise.”

Kaz pushes him gently, and Sam allows himself to be led away.  Erika continues bagging Emily, and they're both wheeled into the OR by a couple techs; Madhuri and Kaz immediately head for the other door, where the scrub nurses wait.

“Carlisle, go call Chief Swan for me, thanks,” she dismisses him on her way in, suppressing a shiver when she accidentally brushes against his cold arm.

“Of course.”

“And make sure somebody takes care of Sam!”

Madhuri ignores Kaz’s burning stare on the back of her head, pouring every bit of frustration and fear into scrubbing her skin raw.  

“What’s the plan?” Kaz breaks the silence.

“Try and keep her alive.”

“You will,” he declares confidently.  The hair on the back of her neck prickles as he approaches, stopping far enough that he won’t have to re-scrub - still so close his body heat encompasses her, giving her the shivers of a different kind.

"But that's not what I meant."

“If you mean by Carlisle and Sam, don’t really care right now.” Leech.  Sam called Carlisle a leech, which means he knows.  But why the vitriol? And the way Carlisle was acting, like this whole thing is somehow his fault.

Could it be? Not him, but one of his family members? 

No.  No time.  Later.

“Let’s go,” she orders, hardening up.  “Time to get this shitshow on the road.”

Charlie knows this isn’t some random animal attack gone horribly wrong the second he parks his cruiser in front of the hospital.

Forks is a quiet town and the hospital is equipped for quiet town injuries.  Half the staff treated him when he was a kid and the other half went to school with him, so while he has a great deal of respect for everyone there, he knows damn well what they’re capable of.  David Snow hasn’t seen anything more serious than a car accident since 1994 and Wayne Gerandy is about a hundred years past retirement.  He’s seen them handle the one genuine animal attack they had about six years back - there’s no way in hell they’re coping with one a month for the past five months.

The weird city doctors, on the other hand, appear to be taking this in stride.

“Dave, Dr Gerandy,” Charlie greets, joining them by the hospital doors.  A sign posted nearby states that all personnel are prohibited from smoking within thirty feet of the hospital, but he takes one look at their bleak expressions and decides to let the infraction slide.

“Goddamn treaties,” Gerandy wheezes, “Always a fucking loophole…”

“You called the Rez?” David inquires, offering him a drag.  When he declines, he inhales deeply, thumping the back of his head against the brick wall and exhaling a pillar of smoke.  

“Billy’s on the way with Harry and Old Quil.  Any updates on either of them?”

David shrugs.  “Sehgal and Voronin have been with Emily for the past hour, so I’m assuming she’s still alive.  I managed to get Sam into one of the showers but I haven’t seen him since.”

Charlie’s always wondered how somebody as apathetic as David Snow managed to convince medical schools that he was the deeply caring sort, but he understands where he’s coming from now that the Feds are breathing down his back thinking this is some kind of serial killer on steroids.  Stress will either turn you into an impassive asshole like David or make you crack and mumble about monsters like Gerandy, and when Alessia Stanley’s starting to put you under the microscope bet your ass your safest bet is to pretend everything’s good.

“Won’t see him here,” Gerandy reveals, shaking his head.  “Not while Carlisle’s inside, no.”

“Sam nearly gave Sehgal a second body to work with,” David clarifies, “Apparently he took one look at Cullen and made Chernobyl look like a small campfire.”

Gerandy drops his cigarette and crushes it under his Oxfords, sighing ruefully as he pulls out a fresh stick.  “Used to think Ephraim was a genius for putting that treaty together on the spot.  Look where it got us now.”

Carlisle.  Ephraim.  Treaty.

Ah, shit.

Charlie bids them goodbye and brisk walks through the hospital, praying he doesn’t bump into anyone other than Dr Sehgal with good news.

Forks and all her legends run through his blood; not nearly as profoundly as the Quileute heritage does in Billy, but the history is there and Charlie’s attempts to ignore the tingling in his fingertips everytime there’s a hint of the supernatural in the air can only go so far.  Right now, they’re too numb to pretend otherwise - he might not personally give much stock to the whole vampire thing, but he respects Billy and the Quileute enough to know that if this involves them and their legends then he’s got to give them a heads up.   

Maybe he’ll ask Alessia to help him organize a hunt for a bear or something, just to throw her off their trail and give Billy some time to get shit under control on his end.

Animal attacks his ass.

“Charlie,” Billy calls.  He turns around and waits for him and Harry to catch up, immediately taking his spot on Billy’s left and following the signs for the OR.

“Old Quil?”

“With Sam,” Harry replies gravely, “How’s Emily?”

“David says no news is good news.  Told Sue yet?”

“Absolutely the fuck not.  She’d wrestle her way into that OR and put every stitch in herself.  Best if I tell her later.”

Billy snorts.  “That’s a long way of saying you’re too chicken.”

Just like that, the tension is broken.  The three of them fall into old patterns, bickering until they reach the waiting room and bickering some more just for the sake of it.  There’s no talk of vampires or treaties or anything spookier than the Patriots winning the Superbowl two years in a row because that’s how it works.  Everybody knows those things are real but they’re never acknowledged.  The illusion of normalcy is the bedrock on which Forks stays standing.

Dr Sehgal shuffles out of the OR two hours later with Dr Voronin, both looking like death warmed over.  

“Emily’s stable,” she states tiredly, swaying ever so slightly on her feet.

“So she’ll be okay?” Harry presses.

“Honestly, I can’t say for sure.  We managed to stop the bleeding and patch up all the major injuries, but she lost a lot of blood and there’s no telling what will happen overnight.  If she’s still stable tomorrow, I’m cautiously optimistic, but you need to understand that Emily is in for a long recovery,” Sehgal explains.  She stifles a yawn and continues, “Protocol technically dictates that once I’m done stabilizing her, we get her lifted to a nearby Level One but I’m not gonna lie, I don’t feel comfortable transporting her this soon after.”

“We’ve decided to stay overnight and keep an eye on her instead of letting shift change handle it,” Voronin takes over, sweeping his pitch black eyes over them as if waiting for a challenge.  “We’ll arrange for a medevac tomorrow.  In the meantime, I need her next of kin’s contact information.”

“I’ll go,” Harry volunteers, using the back of Charlie’s chair to help himself up.  “Just make sure we don’t run into Dr Donnell on the way there.  Missed a few too many checkups with him.”

“Lucky for you he’s in New York for a cardiology conference so he can’t slap a 12-lead on you right now,” Sehgal says dryly.

Harry mutters something about the universe finally doing some good and follows Voronin to his office.  Charlie runs a hand over his face, rubbing his beard thoughtfully.  Harry’s a grown man who’s free to make his own medical decisions, but he makes a mental note to call and ask Sue if she needs help dragging him to his next checkup anyway.  

“So,” Billy starts, “Animal attack.”

“If I’d known I’d be dealing with so many of them I would’ve taken more wildlife injury CME’s instead of all the street drug ones,” she laments, “Anyway, they’ve probably got Emily set up in our little makeshift ICU by now.  I’m going to go check on her, and then I’ll send someone to get you so you can visit for a few minutes.”

“Sounds good.”

Charlie waits for her to round the corner before musing, “Should I be investing in bear spray or loading up the old Super Soaker with holy water?”

“I wish it were that simple,” Billy says.

Maybe it’s because of that thing where you never notice little changes when you spend every day with a person, but for the first time ever, Charlie notices how old Billy is - and, by proxy, how old he is.  How easy it is for those wrinkles he’d always attributed to a lifetime of laughter and summers spent in the sun to instead weigh down with stress aging him beyond his years.

“People are starting to think this is a bit more...human,” Charlie says slowly, gauging his reaction.  Billy closes his eyes and hums.  “Ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous,” Charlie echoes, “Yeah, that’s what I said.”

A few minutes pass in silence, and then Billy mumbles, “Bear spray.  A lot of it.”

Emily I’m so sorry I’m so sorry I’m so sorry-

“This is a tragedy, but it’s not your fault, Sam.  You have to be strong now.  For the tribe and for Emily.”

I can’t be strong what if I wolf out and hurt someone else I shouldn’t be strong what if it’s mom or Leah next nononono.

“You’re the Alpha now, Sam.  It’s up to you to control the wolf and lead the others when they phase.  So this doesn’t happen again.”

No more wolves no more kill the Cullens no more wolves if I kill the Cullens but the treaty I can’t violate the treaty somebody tell me what to do somebody please please Emily tell me what to do-

“Sam?”

He trips over a root - rather, he should have tripped over a root.  His foot slices through it like it’s wet tissue paper.  The little cuts on his skin heal up in seconds, and he should be horrified or amazed or both, but he’s so detached from reality all he does is watch it happen and file that under the otherwise blank list of  ‘wolf perks’.

Dr Sehgal is not nearly as unfazed.

“O, teri ki - what the fuck? That - you know what, never mind,” she grumbles, pinching the bridge of her nose.  “Don’t want to know.  How are you doing?”

Reflexively, he can feel the ‘fine, thanks’ on his tongue, but then he takes a breath and there’s the faintest whiff of Emily’s blood in the air and nothing will ever be fine.  He snaps his mouth shut and lowers himself to the ground, preparing himself for a long night.  Old Quil won’t think to look for him here and he refuses to go into the hospital where the overpowering scent of leech is liable to tip him over the edge he’s precariously balanced on.

“Figured as much.  Listen, I don’t need to know the specifics since I get the feeling this is a bit above my paygrade, but for what it’s worth, you saved her life.  Emily’s alive because of you.”

“She’s in here because I couldn’t - I couldn’t keep her safe,” he chokes.  How does the tribe expect him to be a protector when he hurt the one person he was supposed to keep safe above all else? His imprint, who the Spirits themselves created as his perfect other half.  If he can’t keep her safe, then how the hell do they think he’s capable of looking after the tribe?

“You ever taken a first aid course, Sam?”

He blinks.  “Um.  Yes, I used to be a lifeguard.”

“Oh, good.  Tell me, if you see somebody drowning, what’s the number one thing you never do?”

“Dive in to save them without the proper supplies.”

“Why?”

“They’re panicking.  They’ll grab you and you can drown, too, so you have to call another guard and use a rescue tube to get them to safety.” 

“So don’t you think you did the right thing here?” she poses gently, “You might not have fought off whatever did that to her in the moment, but if you’d jumped in then who would’ve brought her here? You’d both be dead.”

If he’d never been there in the first place then none of this would’ve happened.  Emily would still...she’d still…

Hate him anyway because he hurt Leah, too.

“How is she?” 

Dr Sehgal raises a brow and turns so she’s half-facing the hospital behind her.  They’re far enough into the woods that all a normal person can make out is the white brick of the south end, but Sam isn’t a normal person.  Emily’s blood is still there, faint enough that he loses it unless he takes a deep breath, and he can hear her heartbeat.  Feel it.  It’s in his heart and head, loud enough to drown out the world.

“I dunno, you tell me.  That’s why you’re camped out here, isn’t it?”

“She...I think she’s fine.  She’s breathing.”

“Which is always good.  She’s stable for now, but tomorrow we’re going to transfer her to-”

“Don’t,” he interrupts, “Don’t...tell me where she’s going.” If he knows, he’ll follow and he cannot follow.  He doesn’t deserve to.  Not until he’s in total control of the wolf and knows he will never hurt her again.  So what if it feels like his spirit is being ripped out of his body the more distance he puts in between them? He deserves to feel the same pain Emily does.  Deserves more just so they’re even.

Dr Sehgal looks like she wants to tell him anyway, but thankfully she keeps it to herself.  

“I’ve got to go now, but if you need anything, like food or water, then I’ll be in Emily’s room, so…” Letting that hang in the air, she leaves him to the forest’s whims.

Sam takes a deep breath and chokes on blood.

I’m sorry Emily I’m so sorry.

Chapter Text

act i: inertia

From: idiot

Time: 10:12 AM

Can u just avoid doing it @ home

From: idiot

Time: 10:12 AM

I know ur mom can b a lot but dont u think itd b easier if u just played nice until u move out 

To: idiot

Time: 10:13 AM

Why the fuck should I have to play nice when she’s the only one with a problem here? 

To: idiot

Time: 10:13 AM

And considering YOU ran all the way to the big city because YOU didn’t want to do it, you can just shut up.  We have the opposite problem here.  Stop pretending like you know what I’m going through.

To: idiot

Time: 10:13 AM

It’s not fair.

Lauren’s thumb hesitates over the ‘send’ button.  Pursing her lips, she deletes the last message and slips her phone between the binder rings just as Mrs Cheney sweeps past her desk.

“Again, because some of you might not have been paying attention: when we start doing labs next week, if I catch anybody trying to get high off fumes or seeing if you can turn your skin funny colours, I will have you scrubbing the glassware until your hands prune right off,” she threatens, pointing to Emmett Cullen all the way in the back.  “I mean you, Emmett.  I do not want a repeat of last year.”

“Aw, c’mon.  Nobody got hurt!”

“You try and do a keg stand with the sodium hydroxide reagent bottle again and watch what I do.”

The vamp laughs.  He probably finds it hilarious when humans threaten him.  After all, what can they do to harm something like him? Throw a match? Stupid fuckers will outrun any flame unless they’re in pieces.

Unless, of course, the flames happen to be of the magical sort.  Can’t outrun those until the witch decides to let up.  

Mrs Cheney’s lecture fades into the background.  Distantly, she can make out the squeaky rattle of the ceiling fans, every sniffle and stifled cough, but the noises are muffled and ringing; the way things sound after waking up on a long flight and forgetting to pop your ears.  Slowly, all that is drowned out by the blood pounding in her head, and she closes her eyes to focus on the feeling.

It should be there.  Somewhere between the thudthudthud of her heartbeat lies her magic.  The timing needs to be precise to find it, grasp it, make it her own, but every time she feels it crest and reaches out, it slips away and she can’t-

“Lauren,” Tyler hisses, “Your paper is kinda on fire.”

Shit.  She pats the singed corner of her worksheet and prays Mrs Cheney’s nose is too fried from years working with chemicals to notice the smokey stench.

“What the hell was that?” he asks.

“Shut up, Tyler,” she snaps, rubbing her throbbing temples.  From experience, the splitting migraine will take about twenty minutes to reach levels a couple Extra-Strength Tylenol can manage, but the whole-body weakness is here to stay until tomorrow at least.  

Tyler waits a few minutes before quietly unwrapping a Nutri-Grain bar and holding it up for her to take a bite.  

“You know you shouldn’t be doing that shit in class,” he admonishes quietly once she’s finished half the bar.  He tucks the rest in her pencil-case for later, knowing she’ll need the pick-me-up after lunch.  

“Where else am I supposed to do it? Mom caught me yesterday and threatened to ship me off to fucking Athabasca to live with dad’s parents.”

“You did it yesterday, too? Lauren, c’mon, don’t be an idiot.  You know what happens when you do it too much.”

Tears prick in the corner of her eyes, and she blinks them back stubbornly.  Her already hair-trigger temper is at the brink and she wants to scream that she’s not a child who needs to be told what’s good for her but everything hurts and she’s too tired to do anything but shrug.  Tyler will never get it the same way her stupid cousin never will, but at least Tyler has the excuse of being 110% normal.  Not a drop of magic in his blood.  

She wonders what that’s like.  It must be nice to go about life without feeling like there’s sandpaper between the layers of your skin that grows rougher each passing day you neglect your birthright.  Burning bits of paper is enough to take the edge off - or it just gives her enough pain elsewhere to distract from the permanent kind - but eventually it builds up again and she’s not sure how much longer she can keep it up.  

It’s been getting worse lately, both the sandpaper and the headaches.  Witches who learn to use their magic properly when they’re young like they’re supposed to never have this problem, but her mother doesn’t give a shit and her father is too complacent to step in and make her see reason.  

Tyler spends the rest of the day acting as her crutch, leading her from class to class and making sure to steer all conversation his way during lunch so she doesn’t have to speak - not that anybody is trying hard to engage her in conversation.  On top of being absolutely miserable as of late, her friends have been too busy with Forks’ newest novelty piece and her riveting contributions of ‘hm’, ‘cool’, and ‘I guess’ to bother with her.  

Because, as Eric joked when Bella very-not-subtly asked what was up with her the other day, “Bitchy, witchy Lauren season is 365 days long.”

If only he knew.

“You look like shit,” Jess informs her, “Like, whatever it is you’re doing for skincare needs to stop.”

“Cordially, go fuck yourself,” Lauren grouses, taking one look at the textbooks and binders crammed in her backpack and slamming her locker shut.  With Tyler having disappeared seconds after the final bell to get his car to the mechanic’s on time, she’s shit out of luck on assistance.  

“Oh - is this one of those-” Jess waves an imaginary wand in the air, “Things? No wonder you’ve been all fucked up lately.  What’s your locker combo?”

“What?”

“Locker combo.  Wait, is that the same lock from freshman year? I recognize that butterfly sticker.  Here, I remember it, one sec.”

Lauren watches in equal parts confusion and trepidation as Jess slings her backpack over her free shoulder and clicks the lock back in place.  Still, help is help and since it’s all she can do not to keel over on the dirty tiles, Lauren allows herself to be led out into the parking lot, all the while wondering if she accidentally magicked herself into some weird alternate reality where Jess Stanley is her friend and not a habit.

“So, what’re your thoughts on Bella?” Jess asks, pointing to a black sedan in the corner.  “I’ll drop you off, by the way, but no supernatural talk in the car.  Jules is so not in the know.”

“Uh, ok.  Thanks?” Lauren eyes her warily.  “Jess, no offence but what are you doing? We’ve never been close.  All this over one stupid-”

Jess rams her elbow into her ribs and blinks four times in rapid succession: the local code for Cullen nearby.  Magic naturally grants a degree of immunity to most supernatural talents, including mind reading, but Lauren makes sure the forefront of her thoughts involve as many raunchy MTV music videos as possible before lowering her voice, “Bella Swan, really? I am not playing fucking enemy of my enemy here.  Just because I think she’s a fucking snobby bitch with a superiority complex doesn’t mean I’m gonna-”

“She’s interested in Edward Cullen.”

“Okay, and? Everybody’s interested in those bastards at one point or another.  It’s just funnier because she doesn’t know so of course the guys are having the time of their lives waiting for it to click.”

“No, like, interested.  I hate them all, too, but Edward’s dangerous.  He...with Eli…” Jess’s gaze flickers to the other side of the lot, where Bella is spacing out by her truck, completely oblivious to the vamp in question creepily eyeing her up from a dozen spots away.  

“It’s just for her safety.  I know the guys think it’s a joke, but if they get too close who knows what’ll happen.  And you’ve heard all the shit about the animal attacks in the papers.  My mom says the feds are starting to suspect a serial killer instead, and you and I both know what the animal attacks have been code for,” Jess prattles, bringing the cookie-shaped pendant on her necklace to her mouth and biting down on it nervously.  

This isn’t about Bella.  

She’s right, but Bella’s a convenient scapegoat for what this really is all about, and Lauren’s so filled with sardonic amusement it makes her mouth bitter.  It’s funny how the universe works, putting trust and secrets in places they never quite belong; like Tyler the human having more sympathy for her magical burdens than her own mother, the would-be head of their coven.

Like Lauren being the one to wipe away Jess's tears last summer in the shop, making her promise over and over never to touch a Ouija Board ever again.

“Fine, so-” She’s cut off by a high-pitched metallic wail.

Tyler’s car screeches across the parking lot towards Bella, who’s frozen like a deer in headlights.  

ThudthudthudthudTHERE.

She catches the crest, pulling the magic running through her to her fingers and she has no idea what the hell to do with it other than beg it to stop his car or slow him down or let him live.  The magic ebbs, snatching the air out of her lungs as it goes so she can’t even scream.  

Edward Cullen stops the car.

She’s distantly aware that she should be joining the rest of the students in crowding the cars, but she feels so fuzzy and light that she can’t.  The magic fizzles out of her fingertips, and for once there’s no pain.  Not even a little soreness in the arms.  Clouds have replaced every muscle and bone in her body, cotton stuffed in her senses.  

“Lauren? Holy shit!” Jess catches her with a yelp, “Oh, shit, you used magic, didn’t you? Shit, you need a doctor.  Witch doctor? Ah, fuck, fuck - Jules! Jules, help!”

“Told him to change his tires last week,” Lauren slurs, slipping into the comforting darkness creeping around her.  “Told him…”

For many parents, meeting your child in the hospital after they’ve been missing for a week is probably what constitutes nightmare fuel.

Carlisle supposes it’s a good thing he can’t sleep, then.  He would have enough keeping him up at night without also worrying about where Edward’s latest fit of dramatics have landed him - though he supposes as a parent that’s something that you only stop worrying about when you’re dead.

Two for two.  Lucky him.

“I heard the Chief’s daughter was in,” he says cheerfully, sauntering into the emergency room and immediately cutting off his breath.  Although it’s been a little over a week since Sam was here, the stench of werewolf still clings to the air and it’s somehow made even worse when combined with whatever mix they used to get Emily’s blood off the floor.  

“Dr Cullen.” Charlie visibly sags with relief.  “How’s it going?”

“Good, good.  Miss Swan, how are we feeling? Heard you were in quite the accident.” 

“I’m fine,” she grits out, “This is really not necessary.”

“Ah, humour me.  Follow my finger, please.” 

Bella wrinkles her nose, grudgingly allowing him to conduct his tests.  Carlisle almost wants to laugh at her desperate attempts to melt into the cot when Charlie holds up the C-collar she was brought in wearing and asks if she needs to keep it on overnight for support. 

“No, no.  No need for that, she’s just fine,” he assures the both of them, making a few notes in her file as he listens in on Madhuri on the other side of the divider with Tyler Crowley. 

While never one to draw baseless conclusions, he can’t help but think that she’s been avoiding him ever since-

“It’s your fault!”

His pen rips through Bella’s intake sheets, though thankfully not out the other end of the file.  Shaking his head, he continues writing in the margins.  He should be glad that Madhuri’s taking this more seriously instead of pretending he’s as harmless as Jude, but instead he feels strangely hollow.  Aside from his family and the Volturi, he’s not had friends - those who aren’t primarily coven allies - since he was human, and truth be told he’s not sure what the protocol is here.  Does he give her time to process and approach him, or does he take the lead and assuage her concerns? Pacifistic to the point of being a pushover, as his father was wont to say, Carlisle can’t remember the last time he’d let a conflict last longer than a day or two before seeking resolution.

But his experience is limited to vampires.  He’s never stuck around long enough to worry about how to deal with humans.

“...plus, your scans came out pretty normal so once I’m done with these stitches I’m just going to keep you here for about an hour for observation and then discharge you.”

“Your friend Tyler also seems to be okay,” he reports.  Bella blinks a few times and looks over to the divider as if only just realizing he was brought in as well.

Interesting.

“That’s good.  Lucky Edward was there to save us both,” she says, turning to stare at him with accusation darkening her eyes. 

If he were alive, his skin would prickle right now, perhaps go cold as blood shunts to muscles essential for running away.  But he’s not, so all Carlisle feels is heavy dread in all those empty places as he registers the newest predator in the room - a human.  

Edward would laugh if he were close enough to hear.  He’s always wondered why Carlisle regards them so cautiously, as if they’re capable of harm to creatures like them.  His fears of being discovered begin with having to move overnight and end with the Volturi sending Jane.  Nowhere on that continuum lies being hurt.

But Edward has never known humans the way Carlisle has.  Humans who have led mobs to murder werewolves, witches, and vampires, armed with nothing but fire and all the righteous fury in the world to keep it fueled.  Humans who would never hurt another creature swept up in that mob, chanting hymns and lighting pyres in the name of God.  

Humans like Carlisle.

Clearing his throat, he snaps her file shut and nods awkwardly.  “Yes, well, good timing.  I should go check on him.  My son’s never been too fond of doctors.”

“He and Bells would get along swimmingly,” Charlie snorts.

Carlisle bids the two of them goodbye and follows Edward’s scent to the hallway between the ER and the waiting room.  Edward looks up, and Carlisle’s relieved to note that his shoulders are still.  He’ll have to come clean about the resurgence of wolves eventually but the last thing he needs is for Edward to clue in while half of Forks High is violating the waiting room capacity less than fifteen feet away.

“I’m glad to see you’re safe,” Carlisle says, “How were the Denali’s?”

“Well.  Eleazar sends his regards.  He says you’re overdue for a visit.” Edward tilts his head, eyes narrowing.  “You’re hiding something.”

“Why would you say that?”

“Why else would you be reciting Bible verses in Greek? Unless - is Bella alright?” Edward demands, running to his side in a blur.

“Edward, control yourself.  Miss Swan is fine.  We are in a hospital full of humans, and - speaking of, what were you thinking? She was asking all sorts of questions,” Carlisle chides gently.

A dreamy, wistful sort of expression crosses Edward’s face.  Carlisle stiffens ever so slightly.  

“She’s far too insightful for her own good.  I just wish I could hear what she was thinking…”

“What? You can’t hear her?” Carlisle asks, alarmed.  Edward and Alice have been their ultimate defense for decades now, and there’s never been a single person in that time who’s managed to slip past them.  Aro has kept his distance because of this and this alone; if word were to get out about their newfound Achilles heel, then the unspoken promise to keep the peace will be broken by dawn.

“No.  Not to worry, Alice can see her future,” Edward promises, though it does little to put his mind at ease, “It’s the strangest thing, isn’t it? Nevertheless, I’ve already come up with a cover.  She concussed herself and is remembering events incorrectly.  It’ll be twice as easy if you corroborate.” He looks at the file in Carlisle’s hands pointedly.

“I will not be faking records over something so trivial,” he asserts in a low voice, tamping down on the annoyance building in his chest.  Edward’s blatant disregard for the basic tenets of medical ethics aside, he can’t help but recall Kazimir’s cutting remarks the night they disposed of the newborn and wonder why it is his children keep expecting him to redraw lines to fix the ones they blur.

It’s almost as if they refuse to learn.

“Did you expect me to let her get hit?” Edward asks incredulously, “Carlisle, she’s my singer.  If she’d shed even a drop of blood, I wouldn’t have been able to control myself.”

“I understand that, but-”

“Ah ha! Found ‘em!”

If his heart hadn’t stopped beating in 1640 then it would have in that moment.

There’s a stutter in his thoughts, just for the briefest second, but that’s all Edward needs to slip through the cracks and read him for all he’s worth.  His eyes widen in horror as he skims through memories of Madhuri and Kazimir and Jude, all of whom know.  Have known.

“She knows,” he breathes, “Carlisle!”

“Can I talk to you?” Bella poses this to Edward, barely acknowledging the tension threatening to choke everyone present.  

“Carlisle.” Edward ignores her and stares at him with so much betrayal he nearly flinches.  “How long? Why didn’t you tell us immediately? Did you think about us at all?”

“Oh, this is about that private practice offer, isn’t it? Don’t worry, he’s not gonna take it.  He likes us too much to leave,” Madhuri laughs, patting Carlisle on the shoulder with her free hand.  She holds up the file in the other and waves it.  “On that note: need a consult.  Walk and talk? We’ll leave you kids to it.”

Edward’s condemnation burns hot on his back as he follows Madhuri.  They walk through the waiting room, where Kazimir is busy herding students out the door.  He nods to both of them as they pass, and then returns to glaring at a few freshmen trying to escape his notice by pulling up their hoodies and hunching over in their seats.

Kazimir’s ensuing lecture bounces around in his skull, the cold baritone morphing into a tenor that’s no less forgiving.  As right as Edward is, he’s still stuck in a disbelieving haze wondering how the tables managed to turn so quickly from Carlisle admonishing Edward’s lackadaisical attitude towards Bella, to Edward scolding him for - for what? Having one thing to himself? A secret he will never be able to take to the grave? A friend made without holding a family meeting to see who approves?

A snide voice in his head - one that sounds suspiciously like the temperamental trauma fellow at his side - tells him to flip the script and ask Edward how his four years of frolicking around as the Chicago Prowler served to keep their family safe.  Or Emmett’s ‘slip ups’.  Jasper’s barely-controlled bloodlust.

When has Carlisle ever put his family in danger the way they have?

“I take it junior clued in?” Madhuri asks conversationally, snapping him out of his spiraling.  

“Yes.  Thank you, by the way, for covering in front of Bella.”

“Ah, no big.  Honestly, I’m kinda surprised he didn’t know already.  It’s been, like...five months, oh wow.”

Has it? Time passes by quickly for his kind, especially when there’s no way to mark one sleepless night from another.  The days stitch together like mismatched yarn, a kaleidoscope of colour that makes it impossible to make out one end from the other, but one look at the grey slush on the ground outside confirms her statement.  

January.  They’re in January.  How many times has he gone to work thinking today’s the day only to come home focused on made up cases to distract Edward and Alice, promising himself to tell them tomorrow or day after? 

“Earth to Carlisle…”

“Hm? Oh, yes, well...I was a bit more preoccupied with the animal attacks.” A shadow falls over Madhuri’s face, and he jumps at the opening.  “It’s not my place to pry, but as your friend - are you doing well? You’ve been distracted since last week.  I know Sam said some things that might have alarmed you.”

She falters in her stride, looking up and down the hallway to make sure it’s clear before rubbing the back of her neck and sighing.  

“Not gonna lie, I’m worried about Sam, but it’s more Emily.”

“Miss Young? I thought she was recovering at Harborview.  Is she alright?”

“Yeah, she’s fine, but...actually, y’know what? I have not a single clue how she’s doing and that’s what’s been tripping me out,” she reveals with a frown.  “I’ve spent this whole week trying to get in contact with her doctors there and figure out how she is, but I’m not her doctor anymore so they won’t tell me shit.  My job was to patch her up and get her to them.”

He weighs his words carefully, taking note of the way she bounces her pen against her thigh like an Epi-Pen over and over again.  “That’s a good thing, Madhuri.  You saved her life.”

She groans and throws her hands up in frustration.  “But that’s the problem.  I used to be the doctor.  Sure, y’know, emergency medicine means my job is patching people up and then referring them to specialists so I can go patch the next guy, but I’ve always been able to follow up and see how they’re doing.  Seeing them get better.  I want to see them through, but with this case...shit, I dunno, I don’t regret you guys at all, but I kinda wish I’d stuck it out back home.”

Carlisle still remembers how surprised he was when her transfer request crossed his desk nearly a year ago.  Aside from his faked backstory and Kazimir’s still inexplicable move from California, the only doctors in Forks were from Forks, so he’d thought it especially odd that somebody with her credentials would actively seek them out.  Still, who was he to deny the town a helping hand?

Now, the thought of either of the three, Jude included, returning to their urban roots has him uneasy for reasons he doesn’t have energy to dwell on.

“You dislike the lack of control,” he observes after finding his voice.  Her stabbing motion pauses mid-air, and she stares at him blankly, waiting for him to continue.

“I don’t doubt that you’re worried about Emily’s well-being, but I think it’s more to do with the fact that you didn’t have the resources available here to make sure she was given the care she needed.”

“I don’t suppose you ever did a stint in psych at some point,” she jokes evasively, clearly signalling the end of that conversation.  

Carlisle smiles faintly.  “In a past life.”

“Wicked.  I love that.  Anyway, I wasn’t bluffing about the consult.  Technically, it’s more me passing off a patient but I have some business to take care of with another case so I thought you’d like it.” Madhuri hands him the file.  “Apparently one of the students in the parking lot passed out when she saw the accident.  Jess Stanley brought her in and Snow says her BP was, and I quote, ‘in-fucking-compatable with human life’, which makes you the right guy for the job.”

He nods and checks the room number on file.  110, just down the hall from where they are.  He prepares to say goodbye, but instead what comes tumbling out of his mouth is, “Given that the cat’s out of the bag, as it were-”

“Bat’s out of the coffin.  Sorry, I had to.”

“I’ll be telling the rest of them tonight if Edward hasn’t already.  It’s Tuesday, so I think they’ll have enough time to settle down by the weekend.  Would you, Kazimir, and Jude feel comfortable having lunch with us on Saturday? Just so they know you’re not…” he trails off, struggling to find the word.  

“Threats?” Madhuri offers, grinning wryly at his politely pained nod.  “Jude’s gonna be in New York until next month, but I can get Kaz to come if you promise we’re not on the menu.”

“We would never-”

“Relax!” she laughs, punching his shoulder playfully.  “Oh, man, you should’ve seen your face.  Yeah, we’ll be there.  No pasta, though, Kaz has a vendetta against carbs.”

“I will send you a confirmation text as soon as possible,” he says.

Madhuri waves goodbye and walks back the way they came from, twirling her pen over her knuckles absently.  Carlisle takes a second to compose himself, wrestling every conflicting emotion into a box in the back of his mind to deal with later, and forces a smile on his face as he walks into 110.

“Miss Mallory? Hi, I’m Dr Cullen.  How are we feeling? I hear you’ve had quite the day.”

Chapter Text

act i: inertia

Forks has a ratio of one grocery store for every 664 residents, except after nine PM when it becomes one store per 3320.

Rather, that’s the assumption Eric’s boss has been running with since opening the joint, somehow forgetting that about two thousand of the aforementioned inhabitants are geriatrics who turn in for the night at seven on the dot.  In the four years he’s been working here there have been a grand total of maybe three people who have come in after sunset.  While funny at first - because, as Mike noted early on, he’s essentially paid to stand around for four hours when working closing - Eric is seventeen and it’s a Friday night.  It’s practically a war crime that he’s locked away behind a register while Mike and Tyler are off painting the bowling alley red.

He just knows they’re ruining his score on the leaderboard there.

An overwhelmingly sweet stench that reminds him of the scratch-n-sniff samples in expensive magazines breaks him out of his lamentations.  Robotically, he reaches for the first thing on the conveyor belt and pauses.

Scratch-n-sniff sweet means Cullen.  The Cullen’s only shop biweekly on Monday’s.  The Cullen’s also only ever buy groceries fit for the 1950’s and, on top of being dead and everything, they’re a smidge too white to be stocking up on turmeric of all spices.

“Is everything alright?” Esme asks.

Eric shakes his head and starts scanning.  Each item sends his eyebrows one inch higher on his forehead, and by the time they’re halfway to his hairline, he can't help but comment, “Trying out something new this weekend? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you guys get garam masala.”

“Oh, yes!” Her eyes twinkle eerily under the yellow fluorescents.  “Carlisle’s having some of his work friends over tomorrow.  Dr Sehgal and Dr Voronin.  I thought it would be nice to try and make them something that reminds them of home, so I went and found a recipe for biryani and pelmeni."

“Oh.  That’s really nice of you,” he says, paying an inordinate amount of attention to punching in the code for the onions just to avoid her gaze.

Like most, he doesn’t really care that the Cullens are vamps.  Provided they continue to not turn the townsfolk into their personal Kool-Aid pouches, he’s willing to overlook their terrible attempts at blending in and let them do their thing.  The amusement he gleans just watching them strut around all Jason Bourne-like is enough to shrug off some of his more pressing concerns, one of which includes where the hell do they get rid of their food?

Eric has no doubt that Edward’s enough of a prick to just chuck it out the back door the way he does his lunch at school, but Esme doesn’t seem the wasteful type.  The general lunchtime consensus is that they donate to the local food bank, except Eric volunteers there on the weekends and knows they don’t.  

“I’m just worried they won’t like it,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest nervously.  “I, ah, I don’t have a very good spice tolerance and we’re vegetarian so I won’t be able to taste test.  We’ve also never really had guests over since we moved here, so I suppose that’s why I’m worrying so much.”

The unspoken reality of working in customer service is that only about 40% of the job actually revolves around serving customers.  The remaining 60% involves playing therapist in three and a half minutes.  While he’s no Jess - who can charm the social security number off anybody just by chatting them up on the street - he has learned The Art Of Retail Therapy from Mike, and Mike can probably out-intel the CIA.

That being said, the urge to make a quip about vegetarian vampires is overwhelming and he takes a deep breath to keep himself from laughing.  Esme is a customer.  Esme is a customer who is having a conundrum and he’s getting paid $5.15 an hour to fix it.  

“Y’know, it’s a good thing there’s no HIPAA for cashiers because I can let you in on a little secret.” Eric leans over the register and fake whispers, “Dr Sehgal buys pre-made mixes because she’s too lazy to make it from scratch, and she told me that while it’ll never compare to the authentic stuff, it’s good enough to pass.  Since it’s pre-made, you don’t have to worry about taste testing for ratios.”

“Really?” Esme exclaims, lowering her volume to match his.  “They make those? I know they have soup mixes, but whole dinner spice mixes? In boxes?”

Distantly, Eric’s aware that there’s no need to keep acting like they’re eight year olds gossiping in the middle of class since they’re the only people in the store, but he’s pretty sure this is the longest conversation anybody’s had with a Cullen outside of the hospital and if Mike and Tyler have fucked up his bowling record, he’s gonna set a new one here and now.

“Tell you what, let’s go find the stuff together.  Also, you can get ginger and garlic paste instead of the raw stuff so you can cut down on prep and store it longer,” he says, canceling the transaction and gesturing for her to follow.  

“Thank you, Eric.  I’m afraid this is all a bit new for me.  I’m glad you’re here to help,” she says gratefully, reaching out to touch his arm and drawing back at the last second.  Eric pats her on the shoulder, biting back a shiver at the cold, and grins.

“I got you, Mrs C.”

Kaz is pissed.

At first she thought it was because she’d accepted lunch at the Cullens’ on his behalf, but aside from his initial grumbles it’s been radio silence on that front.  

Then, she thought it was that he missed Jude, who’s gone from calling daily to texting once a week because of the conference turning into some sort of surgical training session from hell.  

Now, though, she’s starting to think he’s pissed at her.

Between the three of them, Kaz has always been the ‘morning person’ (though it’s hard to tell if he’s especially grumpy in the mornings given that’s his perpetual state of being) so to see him give Jude a run for his money as he slides into her car and slams the door shut immediately has her hackles rising.

“Who pissed in your coffee?” Madhuri demands, shoving a MapQuest printout in his face.  “Also, make sure I don’t drive us into a ditch by accident.”

“Nobody,” he replies shortly, “Make a left and stay in the right lane for two kilometers.”

"This is Forks, buddy.  Single lanes for all."

Madhuri backs out of his driveway carelessly and guns it down the road ten over the speed limit.  Kaz watches the speedometer needle tick up disapprovingly, but silently studies the map even though all of Forks is probably burned into his brain at this point.  She fiddles with the heating - how the hell did it get so hot so quick? - lowering it as much as safely possible to keep the windows from fogging up and her cheeks from melting off.  She hesitates over the radio knob, opting for inoffensive pop just to fill the awkward silence with something.

Kaz turns it off, and that’s when she veers into the shoulder and throws the car into park, turning in her seat to glare at him.

“What the fuck is your problem?” she snaps.

“Nothing,” he replies, “Face the front, if we get hit and the airbags go off-”

“Fuck the airbags.  Seriously, you’ve been more dickish than usual.  Is it the Cullens? Jude? Me?”

Kaz flexes his fingers like he wants to reach over and make her face the front, so she touches her buckle like she’s going to push it.  Predictably, he slaps his hand over hers and warns, “Don’t be an idiot.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.  I’ll walk into the woods and fist-fight the ‘animal’ thing if I want and you can’t do shit.”

“I can and I will,” he asserts.

“You’ll do that but you won’t tell me what’s eating you? Nice to know where your priorities lie,” she says, turning in her seat so he can’t see the hurt in her eyes.  Then, because she can’t resist it, she mutters, “Even Carlisle’s more honest than you are.”

The words have their intended effect.  Kaz’s grip tightens, and when she hazards a glance, his expression is so foreboding it sends a shiver down her spine.  She’s only ever seen him aim that ice Carlisle’s way.  When did she wind up in the same boat as him?

“Alright, why did you leave home?” he inquires.  Madhuri tries and fails to get her slick hand out from under his, cursing herself for picking today of all days to have this fight.  Thanks to Carlisle’s text, she knows that Edward Cullen can read minds and the last thing she needs is for this to be on the forefront of her brain, ripe and ready for him to pick.

“Stop asking questions instead of answering them.  We’ve been over this already, it doesn’t matter.”

“No, we haven’t, and yes, it does, but that’s the point.  You don’t get to stick your nose into everyone’s business and then get offended when they do the same.  It doesn’t work like that,” he says, finally letting go so she can put the car in drive.  

Madhuri purses her lips and strangles the steering wheel, pretending it’s his neck instead.

Wet snow falls in fat blobs that turn to water when they hit the windshield; all around them, winter has started to settle over the land.  Forks isn’t nearly as extreme in its climate as most people think, being mostly overcast even in the middle of winter, whereas at this point the GTA is drowning under five feet of snow if Akhil’s latest texts are to be believed.

In a way, she misses that, too.  Fighting with Akhil over who gets to shovel the driveway, placing bets on how many cars will be piled up on the QEW that day, joking with Ronit, Simran, Faizal, and Farheen about how high their car insurance is going to get based on all the accidents rolling in.

“You’re going back home after this,” Kaz murmurs.

“Is this your demented way of asking me to come back to yours after lunch? ‘Cause-”

“No,” he interrupts, “Home.”

Oh.  

That’s what it is.  She misses home.

“I was only supposed to be here for a year.  That was always the plan,” she says, more to reaffirm it to herself.  

That was always the plan.  Use her year here to see if she’s cut out for rural med and then use the experience to get a position in Northern Ontario, far enough that nobody knows her but close enough that she can fly down to see her parents once in a while.  

Rural med is out of the question.  After Emily, she’s come to realize that she craves the hustle and bustle of a busy ER, the control; and not even Ronit’s machinations will keep her from marching right back to Gen and snatching his job out from under his nose.

But.  But.  

Whenever she thinks of home these days, the first thing that pops into her head isn’t her shitty apartment or her childhood bedroom.  It’s not her favourite call room and its creaky, brick-stiff mattress.  It’s Kaz and Jude in her living room in Forks, arguing over the identity of the serial killer in that week’s episode of Criminal Minds or how Bones’ ability to identify murder weapons based on microscopic scratches is bullshit.  It’s the three of them playing cards in the lounge.  

Home isn’t home anymore.  Not the way she remembers it.

Kaz says nothing.  She can feel the warmth radiating off his hand as it hesitates over hers on the gearshift, and when he finally rests it atop hers, she knows.  He doesn’t need to say a thing because she gets it.

She hopes he does, too.

It’s not that Rosalie hates Carlisle.  It’s just that sometimes she dislikes him enough to think that landing on the 6 o'clock news is a fair price to pay for setting him on fire.

Edward, on the other hand, she’ll gladly dismember any day of the week and everybody knows it.

“You’re welcome to try, Rosalie,” the vampire in question hisses, “But don’t delude yourself into believing you can catch me.”

“You’ll have to forgive me for being slower than you, Edward.  Not all of us make careers out of running away every time things get a little tough,” she sneers, “You wouldn’t last five minutes with me.”

“Can confirm,” Emmett chimes in.  Whatever he’s thinking of makes Edward’s nose wrinkle.  She makes a mental note to figure out exactly what so she can do it twice as obnoxiously in plain view.

Carlisle sighs wearily, looking like he wants to intervene but thinking better of it.  He can’t scold them for acting up when all this is his fault anyway.  

The house is currently divided into two camps: How Dare You Carlisle (unsurprisingly, Edward and Alice), and Could Be Worse (Esme, Emmett, and maybe Jasper depending on if Alice is close enough to hear him).  Rosalie is so removed from both she might as well start her own and call it ‘Fucking Finally’.

As much as she resents Carlisle for cursing her with this existence for Edward’s perceived sake, part of her almost gets it.  She’s only had to live this way for 72 years and she’d have gone insane doing it alone after the first five.  The fact that he made it to 240 before finding a companion in Edward is worthy of all her grudging respect.  Then two became three and now they’re seven (soon to be eight, Alice will delightfully tell anyone who’ll listen, I just know Bella will love us) but sometimes Rosalie thinks it’s not enough.

They don’t sleep.  They don’t eat.  They learn new hobbies so quickly there’s no fun in even trying.  They don’t adventure anywhere.  They jump from state to state, go to high school and don’t talk to people, go to university and don’t talk to people, rinse and repeat.  All they have is each other.  All Edward and Alice will allow is each other because it’s too dangerous to interact with humans - unless Edward falls in obsession with one, then all the rules get to go right out the window.

What’s the point in living the pacifistic way they do if they’re not allowed to say hello to the humans they’re supposed to protect?

So, no, Rosalie doesn’t care that Carlisle’s made human friends.  She commends him for finally being the tiniest bit selfish.  Maybe the rest of them can finally follow suit and make the most of their second chance instead of bowing to Alice’s flaky visions and Edward’s tantrums all the time.

“I don’t know about this,” Alice says for the thousandth time, toying with the gold bangles on her wrist.  “If the Volturi finds out…”

Rosalie rolls her eyes.  “You sing a completely different tune when it comes to Bella Swan.”

“Keep her out of this,” Edward snarls.  

Emmett breaks away from ESPN to cock his brow and remark, “Then why don’t you keep her out of this? Seriously, man, you keep whining about how she’s getting too close and how it’s too dangerous for her if she figures out but you’re the one who keeps going after her and sniffing around her room at night.  Either put up or shut up.”

“It’s different,” Edward insists, a dreamy haze in his eyes that Rosalie and Emmett have realized is a sign of his Bella Brain Bundle activating.  “She’s different.  She intrigues me.”

“And Carlisle’s humans intrigue him, so what’s the big deal?”

“Because we can’t trust them.  We can trust Bella.  Alice has seen the future-”

“She’s seen your version of the future where you think we can trust her,” Rosalie corrects, ignoring Alice’s venomous glare burning the side of her face.

“Bella is far too sensible to expose us.  She would never endanger anyone.  If you paid attention to anything other than the mirror at school, you would see how different she is from the other humans.”

“If Carlisle trusts his humans then we should, too,” Esme proclaims, stepping out of the kitchen with a bowl of chips in hand.  She deposits the bowl on the table by Carlisle’s elbow, smiling at him warmly.  “He would never put us in danger on purpose.”

“Thank you, Esme,” he replies, taking a steadying breath he doesn’t need before standing up to address the room.  “I would like to apologize again for keeping this from you all for as long as I did.  It was wrong of me.  You’re all understandably concerned but that’s partly why I invited them today.  I want you all to see for yourselves that Madhuri and Kazimir mean no harm.”

Right on cue, Rosalie picks up on the sound of tires crunching up the driveway.  Firestone, if she had to guess.  Winters, too.  She likes the girl already.

They listen as the engine cuts off and two doors open and shut, counting the squelch of their boots in the mud until they reach the front door and pause.

“Should we knock, or…?” 

“Why wouldn’t we?”

“‘Cause they have elephant ears and probably sniffed us out, like, two kilometers away.” Madhuri mutters something in a foreign language that makes Kazimir snort.

“Oh, bullshit you understood that.”

“I know what badboo means.  Just knock.”

“Knock knock! Carlisle, we’re here!”

While Carlisle goes for the door, Rosalie takes a second to close her eyes and find what's left of her 1930's hospitality.  Esme will be Esme and mother hen them to death, but it won't be nearly enough to outweigh the petulance rolling off Edward in waves.  Ultimately, she owes it to Carlisle to at least try and act as a buffer - for all those years where he was hers against Edward; for helping her save Emmett.

She can play nice for that.

Madhuri is shorter than she'd imagined, the top of her head just barely brushing Kazimir's shoulder.  Her bronze skin is flushed from the cold, and the bun she's tossed her hair into hangs lopsided against her left shoulder.  She braces herself against Kazimir to slip out of her boots, wrinkling her nose adorably when her socks touch a wet patch on the floor.

"I'd normally bring food but I wasn't entirely sure if you people are O or AB-neg fans," Madhuri jokes.  Emmett tries not to laugh, but then he catches a glimpse of the scandalized expression on Edward's face and explodes.

Kazimir pinches the bridge of his nose delicately, sighing.  He slips off his coat to hang next to Madhuri's, and while his back is turned, Rosalie privately vows to figure out where he got the turtleneck from so she can buy Emmett about a hundred.  

"The flowers are lovely, thank you." Esme brings the bouquet to her face, taking a delicate sniff.  "I'll go put them in a vase right now.  I'm Esme, by the way, Carlisle's wife."

"Nice to finally meet you.  I'm Madhuri and this is Kaz, but I think Carlisle probably gave you the 411 already," she says, "Or I guess Edward did.  I dunno, how's this work?"

"Essentially as you described," Carlisle replies, and Rosalie - 

Rosalie stares.

For the briefest second, she's fourteen years old and watching her youngest brother introduce his friends for the first time. 

Aubrey had always been a reticent child, gifted (cursed) with an artist's soul in a family that saw no value in it.  Clint was destined to inherit their father's business as the eldest son, but Aubrey was still a Hale and Hale men did not sing siren songs, paint the wonders of the world, or play heartstrings with violins the way he did.  It was impossible for him to make the friends their father wanted him to (because they were never friends) and so for the longest time he simply didn't have any.  He walked behind Clint and allowed his shadow to cover up all those faults, and she'd been so obsessed with finding her pedestal in life that she couldn't be bothered to look back.

Then came Forrest and Ira, and Rosalie remembers wondering is this my Aubrey?

That same shy smile, the life in his eyes; the way he ducked his head and kept looking back like he wasn't sure they weren't just a figment of his imagination.  Carlisle looks just like him, right down to the nervous set to his shoulders as he quietly introduces them all, as if waiting for one of them to reach out and shatter this bridge he's made.

It's a good thing, she muses, that she's the best at keeping things from breaking around here.

“How fucking low is the bar to get into medical school in this country? How did you get in twice? For a fiftieth time, it doesn’t matter what you think the venom replaces, you don’t have a heartbeat!”

“The bar is quite high for Ivy League institutions, although I suppose it makes sense that you wouldn’t know this considering how far beneath it you are.  My theory is medically sound: his powers can still affect vampires because the venom replaces the role of hormones that act on the amygdala and the sympathetic nervous system as a whole.”

“Holy fucking shit, you guys don’t have a functioning circulatory system! No heartbeat! Adrenaline is an endocrine hormone! You need a heartbeat to pump the venom around, which is how endocrine hormones work! They act across a distance, how the hell-”

Up until this point, Emmett had been willing to call lunch a success.  

Kaz and Madhuri walked in with ten litres of blood between them - all of which is present and accounted for - and it only took about two minutes for him and Esme to join Rose in Camp Fucking Finally.  Nevermind that Carlisle’s not been this animated since he had a heartbeat, the girl’s a riot and the guy is just as invested in the Hoyzer match-fixing scandal as he is, which makes him the first person outside of Rose he’s had an in-depth sports talk with since 1935.

Then, of course, Edward had to go and open his fat trap.

First, it was that their thoughts were ‘incomprehensible’ and he couldn’t tell whether or not it was on purpose, to which Rose snarked, “There have been studies showing that native bilinguals don’t think in one set language, Edward.  You’d remember this if you bothered paying attention in Psych 101 the last ten times we took it.”

After that came a whole melodramatic rant about the Volturi and the dangers of humans knowing, how could Carlisle do this to them, blah, blah, blah, where’s the trust, blah, blah, blah.  Emmett dropped out of psych after the first midterm but he’s fairly certain Edward’s constant waffling between ‘humans are too weak to hurt us’ and ‘if the humans find out we’re toast’ is a form of cognitive dissonance stemming from decades of reading the minds of some of humanity’s worst.  The humans might not be able to send them to the grave with a badly timed punch, but they can get creative with their weapons and Edward knows it.  

Thing is, being a vampire doesn’t automatically flip some invisible switch in the brain and turn you into a brainless killer.  Sure, your moral compass might not point exactly North anymore because of the whole not being human bit, but you’re basically the same person as before minus a filter or two.  Carlisle was a pacifistic bleeding heart as a human and has managed to up the ante over the course of three hundred years.  Jasper was a war-hungry little maniac as a human and continued to be one after getting turned.  Edward claims to have been a right gentleman as a human who wanted to enlist and ‘do his duty’, but one doesn’t go from that to serial killer vamp without a few screws being loose as a human.

Essentially, as far as Emmett’s concerned, Edward is projecting hard.

Still doesn’t excuse him being a pompous dick in front of polite company.

“What’d I miss?” he asks Kaz, seated next to him on the sectional.  

Kaz runs a hand down his face, massaging his jaw lightly as he responds, “Edward was explaining how he thinks Jasper’s powers work and Madhuri is explaining why he’s wrong.”

“Oh, this is that whole ‘venom replaces every function ever so that’s why Jasper’s powers work on vampires’ thing isn’t it? Carlisle stopped trying to correct him in the seventies.  I’m surprised Rose hasn’t-” Emmett cuts himself off to turn around and find his wife.  She’s normally at Edward's throat at this point with Alice yelling for Jasper to get her to calm down.

Rose burns with vindication, an angel armed with a whiteboard and dry-erase markers, drawing out the HPA-axis as Madhuri patiently explains each component to Edward the same way you would tell a toddler why they can’t shit in the cat’s litter box.  

Edward, for his part, looks like the cat who found human shit in his litter box.

“God, I hope we can keep you people,” he says happily.

Kaz eyes him warily, so he tacks on, “Metaphorically.  Like an eagle.  You can fly away whenever.”

“He won’t,” Alice states, “But she will.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Kaz asks in a deceptively calm manner.

Emmett meets Carlisle’s alert gaze over the back of the sofa and quirks his brow.  Edward, Madhuri, and Rose are too busy duking it out to pay half a mind their way, but Carlisle and Jasper watch them keenly.  Even Esme looks concerned, pressing a hand to her chest as if trying to hold herself back.

Alice shrugs daintily.  “That’s the future I see for you.  She’s going back and Jude…I can’t really see his for sure.  It’s too muddled.”

“Which means he’s going to die,” Jasper says mildly.  Emmett whips the remote at his head, and it shatters into a million pieces along with the razor-thin peace keeping them at bay.

“Shut up, idiot.”

“I hope that’s not a threat, Major Whitlock.” Kaz braces his arms on his knees, one dangling between his legs while the other props up his chin.  His eyes darken with cold warning.  “I’ll ask you again, Miss Brandon: what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Alice can see the future,” Edward explains, “It’s never quite set in stone, but rather based on decisions made.  If she’s saying that Dr Sehgal is going back it’s because that’s what she’s decided to do.”

“I haven’t, though,” Madhuri denies vehemently.

“You said the plan was always to return after a year.”

“Yeah, that was always the plan.  I didn’t say I was gonna follow it."

Kaz somehow relaxes and tenses up all at once.  “So you won’t be leaving soon.”

“No, pagal.  I still have shit to do here.  Wait, is that why you were all pissy in the car? That’s it?”

“She’s staying,” Alice interrupts, smiling slyly at the both of them.  “Until it’s sunny out, anyway.  Jude’s still unclear, but I think you’ll be fine.”

“I don’t think you see the future,” Madhuri argues, flipping her hair over one shoulder haughtily.  Emmett barks out a laugh, slapping his chest and sighing.  “Oh, buddy, it’s 1953 all over again.”

Alice twitches.  “I do.  I just did.”

“No, you saw what I thought I was gonna do.  I just decided to leave in June - which I won’t,” she adds for Kaz’s sake.  “But if I do this.” Her eyes narrow, and she continues, “Now you’re seeing me leave in the fall, aren’t you?”

“Well, yes, but that’s because you changed your mind.  Your future changes as you decide it.”

“You’re not seeing the future.  You’re seeing my idea of the future.  If you look at the way Kaz is visualizing this and the way I am, I’m probably not even wearing the same clothes in both visions.”

“Like his ability,” Kaz interjects, nodding to Edward.  “You read minds in a sense.  Just long-term thoughts and plans instead of a stream of conscience.”

“What’d I say? 1953,” Emmett chortles.

“It’s the future,” Alice says coolly, “The future isn’t set in stone the way you think it is.  The tiniest of decisions cause ripple effects that change outcomes in the most powerful ways.”

“My brother’s name is Akhil.  What’s he going to have for breakfast tomorrow?”

Alice blinks, startled.  She opens her mouth slowly, hesitating as she responds, “I haven’t met your brother before, so I can’t-”

“Have you ever managed to see the future involving somebody you haven’t met before, or do all your predictions revolve around people you’ve seen?”

“She met me without ever having seen me,” Jasper says calmly, walking over to stand behind his wife and place a hand on her shoulder.  “Said she saw us together with the Cullens, and here we are.”

“Alice’s powers have their limitations,” Carlisle agrees, having had enough of the back and forth.  “However they have served to keep us safe over the years, the same as Edward’s has.  As for why Jude’s is unclear, I believe it may have to do with what you said about meeting the other person.  Perhaps it will be clearer once they do meet.”

“Alice’s visions are holy,” Emmett deadpans.  He lowers his voice just so Kaz can hear the next part.  “Holier than Swiss cheese.  Got into a whole spat with them back in ‘53 about it.  My theory is she heard ‘bout Jasper down South then imagined a future with him and made it happen.  Same thing with us.”

“I’ll be sure to tell Madhuri she won after we leave,” he mutters back.

“If she’s anything like Rose, probably for the best.”

“She’s insufferable.  Jude’s worse.”

“My Rose gives me enough trouble for two, so I feel ya.”

A competitive sparkle lights up Kaz’s eyes.  “You say that now.  Wait until the two of them are together.”

“Stop flirting,” Rose orders, “We’re still arguing here.”

Emmett shoots her a quick salute and turns his focus back on the TV, where a photo of Hoyzer and four others takes up most of the screen. 

“Hey!” he yells, “Holy shit, they arrested four other guys in connection to the match fixing thing!” Kaz nearly jumps out of his skin when Emmett pokes him in the shoulder a few times to get his attention.  “Dude, you were right about him getting paid big money.  This shit runs deep.”

“There’s always money involved in these things,” he replies, rubbing his shoulder absently.  Scoffing, he points to the news ticker at the bottom of the screen.  “All this for a measly sixty-five thousand.”

“Sixty-five-? Ha, knew it!” Madhuri crows, whipping out her BlackBerry and typing furiously.  “I told Jude and Farheen this would be below a hundred grand.  Ugh, you guys have terrible service out here, can't even send a single BBM...oh, hey, speaking of - Rose, what's your BBM PIN? I'll add you to our group chat, you'd love Jude!"

"You get better reception outside.  Come with me, I'll-"

"Wolves?" Edward interrupts sharply, staring at Carlisle in shock.  "What do you mean wolves, Carlisle?"

"Well, shit," Emmett mumbles, slumping lower.  "This just got more awkward than the PPV bill incident in '97."

The world is too bright.  Too much.  When he breathes, it's not just air that fills his lungs.  It's leaves rotting under the snow.  It's the half-frozen deer carcass a half-dozen kilometers away (how does he know it's a half-dozen away howhowhow).  It's his own panic choking him as he runs far and fast, relying on instinct to avoid focusing on the fact that he's a fucking wolf.

Oh, God, have I done this before? Do I not remember? Was I the one who hurt Emily?

Stop!

It could've been me, it could've, oh fuck, what if it was me? Fuck, fuck, fuck-

It wasn't you.  Stop running!

His claws dig into the forest floor in an attempt to stop himself, but he keeps going and crashes into a tree.  To his horror, it topples over as easily as a twig.

And he's unharmed.  

I did that? Oh, what the FUCK.

DON'T MOVE.  RELAX.

He freezes.

Against his will, he freezes.  White-hot iron chains wrap around him, squeezing, and he buckles under the invisible weight.  Trapped by the order, all he can do is listen to his erratic heartbeat (it's so fast how am I not dead what the fuck what the fuck) and the whining noises he barely registers as coming from him.  His snout.  Mouth.  Whatever it is.

Oddly enough, he feels relieved by the tightness.  It's a welcome break from the one in his chest.  He can breathe again.

I'm sorry, but this is the only way.  I promise I'll drop the command when I'm done explaining everything to you.  

Now that he's immobilized by whatever this command is, he realizes that the voice in his head isn't just the manifestation of his subconscious the way it would have been had this been a D-list psych thriller and not real life.  It's an actual person.  In his head.

A pair of paws the size of dinner plates stop in front of his nose.  He yelps as he takes in the massive black wolf gazing down at him with pity in its eyes.

I wish this hadn't happened to you, man.  I'm sorry.

...Sam?

Hey, Paul.

Chapter Text

act i: inertia

03/02/2005

“You have known for weeks that the werewolves have returned, Carlisle.  Weeks! And their return coincides rather perfectly with the animal attacks, wouldn’t you say?”

“Edward, you know just as well as I do that those attacks have nothing to do with the wolves and everything to do with errant newborns.”

“They have everything to do with the wolves.  They’re dangerous! You were there when Emily Young was brought in.  What if it were Bella? Or any of the other humans?”

“Oh, shut the fuck up, Edward.  Don’t pretend you care about humans all of a sudden.  You’re just pissed that Carlisle managed to keep you in the dark this long.”

“Stop inserting yourself where you’re unwanted, Emmett.  This is about Carlisle refusing to share pertinent information that has to do with the safety of our family and the humans of Forks.”

“Pertinent information? Firstly, Edward, don’t think I’m ignorant to the fact that you illegally accessed Emily Young’s medical records.  How you have the gall to violate her privacy under the guise of family safety is beyond my understanding.”

“But I was right to do so.  Emily Young was mauled because Sam Uley couldn’t control his wolf.  All those hikers? Drew Farran’s injuries were remarkably identical to Emily’s, wouldn’t you say?”

“Drew Farran…? Edward, that man was attacked by a vampire.  I burned the body myself.  The wolves of all people should not warrant this level of vitriol from you.  They are sworn to protect humans.  You know who isn’t? Vampires.  Aside from our family and the Denali’s, no vampires opt to protect and live alongside humans.  The Quileute werewolves would not exist if vampires did not.  They are meant to keep us in check, more so than the Volturi.  I don’t understand why you’re so fixated on the werewolves as being the cause of all this.”

“Because he knows he can’t win against a vampire in a fight.  Werewolves, on the other hand, it’s fifty-fifty.  In his mind, anyway.”

“Be quiet, Rosalie.”

“You be quiet.  God, you have been whining non-fucking-stop since last week.  You were the one who was all ‘this is a vampire, clearly’ when the attacks first started happening.  Make up your mind.”

“I have made up my mind.  I will be informing Bella of who we are, and who the wolves are.  They might be bound by the treaty to keep their mouths shut, but I am not.  I will not jeopardize her safety by keeping her in the dark.”

“Have you forgotten we have a treaty to uphold? We are bound by the Volturi, Edward.  Don’t be rash.  If Bella is somehow at risk because of all this then we will figure something out.”

“Tell me, Carlisle, are your ‘friends’ aware of the danger they’re in by virtue of knowing? Do they know what the Volturi will do to them when they find out? Perhaps I should stop by Dr Sehgal’s house and inform her.”

“Keep them out of this.”

“You might be content to stay selfish and keep your loved ones in the dark, but I am not.  Bella will know by the end of the week.  If you cared about your little humans, you’d do the same.”

04/02/2005

When Jude remembers which idiot told him that New York’s coffee is to die for, he promises the first thing he’s going to do after wringing their neck is putting a curse on them to make sure all they taste is sludge and burnt styrofoam even after the heat death of the universe.

He slaps the coffee machine a couple times and pours a fresh cup.  Shuffling down to the end of the table so the guy behind him can get his share of tar, Jude stuffs a fistful of sugar packets in his pocket and grabs as many containers of 18% creamer as physically possible, deciding that if he’s going to drop dead of a heart attack, a cardiac surgery conference is pretty much the most perfect place to do so.

Second only to Kaz’s living room, because Kaz can fix everything.

After stirring in six packs of sugar and eight creamers, Jude pulls out his Blackberry to check the time.  Nine am, which means it’s around six back home.  Although he might have today off, Kazimir Voronin was not factory equipped with an off switch so he’s probably finishing up a 10K for fun right about now.  Jude’s been woken up one too many times on his days off because Kaz is about as quiet as a bear when getting dressed in the morning and, much like his alarm clock, has zero respect for his need to sleep in.

Now all he has is the alarm clock.

He kind of hates it more than New York coffee.

“Okay, this is the third time I’ve got my coffee right after you and this is the third time it’s managed to not taste like ass,” Roselyn says as she takes the seat next to him, looking far too put together than should be possible considering the time of day. 

“Magic,” he intones.

“I believe it.  Also, you need some cream?” 

“Huh?”

“You’ve been itching nonstop.” She points to his hands, the backs of which are bright red and already puffing up where his nails have scratched deep.

“Oh, ugh.  No, it’s fine, I think the air here is just a lot drier than what I’m used to,” he explains.  Thankfully, Roselyn takes his word for it and nods sympathetically.

“By the way, I was talking to one of the panelists from Bellevue and your name came up - were you seriously a cardiothoracic surgery resident there for a while? What made you move to Forks?”

Jude takes a few sips of coffee in order to gather his thoughts.  Unlike Madhuri and Kaz, whose inexplicable moves from Toronto and Cali were the center of all the hospital gossip for months after, Jude’s return was chalked up as ‘the prodigal son coming home’ and never spoken of again.  He’s pretty sure those two still think he’s from New York, and as much as his conscience stings whenever the topic arises, he’s reluctant to tell them otherwise because being associated with Forks in any capacity makes his skin crawl.

As far as he’s concerned, he’s only staying locked behind those evergreen bars long enough to resolve the issue and then he’s going to vanish.

“My family is insane,” he says finally, settling for a half-truth.  “There’s some massively annoying inheritance drama and while my aunts and uncles are busy duking that out, somebody has to look after my grandmother and keep her from going all…hippie-happy out in the woods.”

Roselyn stares at him, mouth ajar.  “...hippie-happy?”

“She literally broke out last month to charge crystals under the full moon.  At three in the morning.”

06/02/2005

“So then I divide this by the time and…no way,” Bella says, staring at the number spit out by the calculator in disbelief.  “I messed up.  Ugh, I must’ve used the wrong distance again.”

She jots down the number on a sticky note anyway, biting on the metal end of her pencil contemplatively.  While she’s never going to win an award for her (non-existent) math skills, given enough time, a solid calculator, and access to her textbooks for step-by-step instructions, Bella can hold her own.  Mostly.  The email open on her laptop confirms it.

Hi,

While your notation is almost impossible to make sense of, assuming your variables are correct then you did the math right.  Whoever gave you this practice problem likely purposefully made it so the correct answer looked wrong, happens in AP all the time.

Lauren.

Bella leans back in her chair, balancing it on two legs.  Renee’s voice rings in the back of her mind, warning her about students who’ve gone blind hitting their heads doing that.  Darkly, she debates letting go.  Not to test the validity of the statement herself, but to see if Edward Cullen will miraculously break the sound barrier to catch her before she falls.  Hell, maybe he’ll even give her a repeat performance of his lines at the hospital when she confronts him this time.

“Bella, you hit your head, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Her molars grate against the metal tip in her mouth harshly.  It would be one thing if she were one of the bystanders who didn’t have a clear view, but she was right there.  Tyler’s car almost crushed her.  Edward Cullen saved her.  Who is he to tell her what she did and didn’t experience? What she remembers?

Who is he to look her in the eye and tell her they’re seeing wrong?

“Got a test coming up or something?” 

“Oh my God! Oh - jeez, dad, a little warning?” Bella gasps, clutching the table for dear life.  Holding onto the back of the chair to keep her from toppling over, Charlie smiles sheepishly and slowly pushes her upright.  Certain that she won’t be falling over anytime soon, he pats her on the shoulder apologetically.

“My bad.  I did knock, but you must’ve been really into it.  Is that trig?” He peers at the papers strewn on her desk curiously.  Even though she’s 110% sure there’s nothing to give away her actual motivations, Bella casually throws an arm over the papers to obscure the illegible diagrams.

“Algebra.  I, uh, have a pop quiz next week.”

“Not really a pop quiz if they tell you beforehand, is it?”

She shrugs.  “Forks, I guess.”

An awkward silence descends on them, and, not for the first time since her arrival, Bella curses herself for running her mouth.  Yes, she hates it here, and yes, she’s counting down the days until she graduates and moves out of state for university, but there’s no reason to let her misery infect Charlie.  It’s just that after a lifetime of babying Renee and being left to her own devices, having the roles reversed so she’s the one being treated like a child is stifling. 

Charlie clears his throat.  “Y’know, mom - that is, my mom - before the, uh…the Alzheimer’s got to her, she used to be a real dab hand at math.  I wasn’t Einstein by any stretch of the imagination, but she just had a way of explaining things that made everything click.”

She should clean her room.  How did it get so messy so soon? The rocking chair in the corner practically sags under all the dirty clothes piled on it, and the dresser has maybe enough room for a tiny potted plant.  She should get one of those.  Hopefully if it’s front and center she won’t accidentally kill it by forgetting to water it this time.

Did she wash the dishes?

“Guess grandpa gave us the bad math gene,” she jokes weakly.

Go away, go away, please go away, go away.

“He definitely did.  But, uh, the point I’m trying to make is…I mean, I might not be the best at math but if you need a rubber duck…” Charlie trails off.  Bella stares at him in abject confusion, gesturing for him to elaborate.

“I ran into Caleb Jiang when I was doing a checkup at that new security firm that opened downtown, and he had this little rubber duck on his desk.  He was telling me that apparently it’s a thing where coders keep one to talk to when their code isn’t working, and that talking out helps them…make it work?” 

Bella laughs.

“So, you’re saying I can talk to you about my problems?” she surmises, fighting to keep her voice steady.  

“Yeah, that…I’m not the best with words,” Charlie admits, rubbing the back of his head.  “Guess I’m just rambling.  I’ll go now, won’t take more of your time.”

“Thanks, dad.  Good night.”

“Night, Bells.”

07/02/2005

“...Sebastian says that they’ve decided on an acquisition of the mine’s parent company instead of…”

I don’t think I’ll be coming back in June like I planned.  

“...will need to put together a team for this.  I don’t want Holland anywhere near this one, so I was thinking…”

It’s not because of Ronit.  This has nothing to do with him, it’s just…something’s come up here.

“...team lead from our senior associates, Sehgal’s our best pick on account of how he handled the Harrison acquisition six months ago…”

God, Akhil, I thought at least you would understand.  What makes you think I’m running away? From who?

“...Sehgal? Sehgal!”

Akhil snaps out of his daze and quickly redirects his attention to the front of the boardroom, where one of the senior partners of the firm is eyeing him reproachfully.

“Did you enjoy your mental vacation in the tropics, Mr Sehgal?” he asks dryly.

“I was somewhere a bit more Arctic, actually - the parent company owns diamond mines up north, doesn’t it?” Akhil shoots back with a cheeky grin that has the room tittering.  The senior partner, TJ, shakes his head and mutters something about requiring overtime and a half for having to deal with him, but the upturned corners of his lips tells another story.

“Yeah, yeah, smartass.  So, I take it you have no objections to taking lead on this? You’ll have full control over your team, but in my opinion, if it’s you, then two junior associates and paralegals each ought to be enough.  Because this is Sebastian, I would prefer no articling students get involved,” TJ says.

The instinctive ‘yes’ is already on his tongue before Akhil swallows it back.  Sebastian’s corporation is almost as massive as the parent company they’re trying to acquire; combined with the fact that Sebastian is one of the most uncompromising men on the planet and the parent company’s CEO is known to drag out negotiations until the other party gives up in frustration, this could easily take a few years to wrap up.  Normally, this wouldn’t bother him.  In fact, with the wedding coming up, something like this is exactly what the doctor ordered.  A guaranteed payout in the millions by the end of it if he plays his cards right, so he and Meera can settle down and start a family without worrying.

But then he thinks of the doctor in question and wonders if he can afford to take on this responsibility when he needs to fulfill those of an older brother first.

“Sehgal?”

“Uh, yeah, sorry.  I was just thinking of who I’d loop in.  I’m thinking…Sushmita and Sam for juniors, and then Rhonda and Sal for paralegals?” Akhil responds, listing the first people he remembers working with on the Harrison acquisition and praying they won’t take too long killing him when they find out.

I thought at least you would understand.

His pen digs into the legal pad hard enough to tear the page.  How does Madhuri expect him to understand when she’s never once in her life opened up and given him - or anyone for that matter - the chance? His little sister’s near violent streak of independence, her greatest source of success, is paradoxically the one thing keeping her trapped inside herself.

Steeling himself, Akhil opens his planner and makes a small note under the weekly tasks tab.  Without looking up, he flips to February 2006 and says, “Actually, TJ, now that I think about it, Sam has mat leave coming up.  I’ll swap her for one of the senior associates since this is Sebastian we’re talking about.”

February 7th, 2006

Meet Madhu

09/02/2005

The fog is unusually thick for the afternoon.

It hangs low to the ground, making Lauren feel like she’s wading in a pool with every step she takes.  By the time she reaches her usual training spot, her breathing has devolved to a high-pitched whistle similar to a recorder - if the recorder happened to be her throat and the holes were created with a serrated knife.

She sinks to her knees and bows over to try and gather herself.  She’s not sure if it’s some lingering side-effect from her magical stunt the other day or if this is just the family curse of hating all things cardio coming to bite her in the ass; knowing her luck, it’s some unholy combination of the two.  At least the latter is something she can fix on her own time.  When it comes to magic, Lauren has to resort to skipping class to train in the forest because her parents are, as grandmother puts it, complete fucking bitches.

They weren’t always like this.  There was once a time when they wanted her to practice it day in and day out, to become the pride of the Rasalhague Coven even though that title has been her oldest cousin’s since before she was even born.  In a way, Lauren thinks that’s where the seeds of rebellion first took root: her cousin who had it all wanted nothing to do with it, and Lauren had no real desire to take his place.  She was content with what she had - but content wasn’t enough.

Lauren shifts into a more comfortable position and scans the clearing.  It’s still too foggy to see, but if she could just…

The magic humming within her has been much easier to access since the day of the almost-crash, and it feels almost newer than what existed before.  Because other witches are able to use their magic freely and cycle out the old with the new on a frequent basis, she theorizes that part of the reason she’s had difficulty with hers is because she can’t and the accumulation of old magic was backing up her pipes like grease.  With all of it having been purged that day, she’s cleansed her system and built up fresher reserves.

Keeping that in mind, Lauren channels her magic into a thin bubble around her, immediately grateful that she'd started with a lower output than usual.  Every shaky breath she draws threatens to distort the bubble, forcing her to concentrate even more on maintaining the shape.  Once certain that it won't pop, she pumps more magic in, bit by bit, until her head starts to go dangerously light and she knows she's reaching the upper limits of her control.

The bubble constricts, wringing the air out of her lungs, and that's when she allows it to snap away like a rubber band.  Magic pulses out and pushes all the fog out of the clearing; dead tree branches rattle and the frail ends snap, raining down in a loud hiss that has her hair standing on end.

She felt that.  Everything.  For a brief second, she felt everything as if it were a prick against her senses.  

If this is how it is for her with her meagre powers, then what's it like for him? Her cousin, whose abilities are spoken of with the reverence afforded to gods - and all the associated fear, too.  Is he just numb to it all at this point? 

"Oh my God, you didn't pass out this time!"

Lauren whips her head up, astonished to find Jess of all people sitting primly against a tree across from her.  

"What the hell are you doing here?" she exclaims, "Did you follow me?"

"You don't own this meadow." Jess sniffs, tapping the math textbook on her lap with a pencil.  "I got a new detail so I thought it would be fun to test them."

"I came out here to train," Lauren says irritably, "Your detail will find us in ten minutes flat and then we'll both get detention for skipping."

Jess rolls her eyes, waving her concerns away as easily as the fog earlier.  "Please, all I have to do is get one of them to flash their badge and we're set.  Besides, can't you magically conceal us or something? Make us extra hard to find."

"Sure! If I were literally any other witch that would be easy.  Except I'm not, so we're shit out of luck."

"Do you know how it's done?"

"Well, yeah, I know how to do everything in theory."

"Alright, now you just put it into practice," Jess declares, "Like, this isn't an anime.  If you wanna get as strong as your cousins you actually need to do the training instead of speedrunning it in a montage, y'know."

Lauren stares at her and wonders, yet again, if her mother has finally followed through on her threats to ship her off and decided that this bizarre alternate timeline is a more fitting punishment than Athabasca.  While not enemies, per se, she and Jess have never been especially friendly either.  Up until now, the only things really connecting them have been AP classes and that fateful day with the Ouija Board, and they both silently agreed to never speak of that again.  

So why the sudden camaraderie? Is it because Bella Swan has, for some godforsaken reason, usurped her position at the top of Forks High's totem pole and she thinks they can bond over that? Lauren full-well understands the disdain for the city-girl who regards them as less than ants beneath her shoe, but she doesn't think that's any reason to start getting all chummy with one another.  

Whatever.  There's not enough time to waste on psychoanalyzing Jessica Stanley; she wouldn't bother even if there was.  

"Keep your mouth shut, I need to concentrate for this," Lauren warns, closing her eyes once more.  

"I'll be as quiet as a - oh, oops.  Shutting up now."

10/02/2005

Pack not cult not a cult a Pack family brothers

Cullens are vampires kill them but only if they attack first the treaty is real everything is real

Not animals not wolves vampires it's all vampires except Emily that's us Sam Sam it's Samourmyfaultmine 

Stop breathe it's ok you're fine you're doing okay 

JARED, STOP.

Jared - or whatever the hell it is he's become - stops.  Sam's voice cuts through the chaotic slew of memories and thoughts shoved into his head against his will, hitting the kill switch on all functions.  He remains perfectly motionless until Paul comes to a halt next to him and nudges his ribs with his snout, huffing.

Sam, tell him to breathe.

Oh, shit, not again.  Sorry, Jared.  You can breathe and talk back, just don't run away.  

Air has never tasted so sweet - until it starts tasting like wet dog and decaying leaves.  He gags, lolling his tongue out and hacking to clear his lungs of the disgusting rot.

You get used to it, Paul rumbles, it hits hard the first time but you won't notice it as much after.

I'm still getting used to Alpha commands.  If I'm not precise enough then things like this happen, Sam says (thinks?), bowing his massive head apologetically.  Instinctively, Jared mirrors the action as if to prove that he's not a threat; to Sam freakin' Uley of all people.  The untouchable golden boy of the Rez - until he got sucked up into whatever weird cult shit plagued Forks proper.

And now Jared's gone and got sucked up in it, too.

I would prefer cult shit to this, I won't lie, Paul thinks, projecting a memory of his first time phasing back to a human.  Jared feels the bile rising up Paul's throat in the memory as if it were him experiencing it firsthand.  Is this what he has to look forward to every time?

Only the first ten or so phases, and then every time you're hungover.  You're fourteen, though, so you don't have to worry about that for a while.

Fifteen, Jared thinks absently, trying to figure out how he's supposed to sit down.  He's seen dogs do it, but coordinating so only his back legs fold without his front legs at the same time requires more effort than he thinks it should.  

Sit.

Jared sits.  Oh.  That's how you do it.

Sam and Paul exchange A Look.  Pack Brain Telepathy, as he's decided to dub it because he's a fucking founding member of Furries Anonymous here, means he can hear exactly what it is they're thinking as they're thinking it.  Jared wishes he could use this on his math teacher during tests.  

I'm not that young, he grouses, and even if I was, it's not like you can un-wolf me, so you're stuck with me.

Kid has a point, it could be worse.  It could've been Jacob.

Jacob.  Jared perks up.  Jake's the poster boy for skepticism when it comes to these things.  The first thing he's gonna do after losing the paws is run to Jake's - or maybe, Jared thinks giddily, he should run to Jake's with the paws to maximize the freakage.  

No.

What seizes him this time isn't Sam's Alpha command but something much, much older and far more final.  Even the unspecific order to stop was less binding than the barbed wire wrapping around his soul to keep the secret locked tight.  Jared whines, lowering his body as a feverish weakness sweeps through him.

You can't tell Jacob.  No family, no friends.  The only people who can know are the wolves and the Elders.

But everyone already knows the legends, what's the point in keeping it a secret if it's true?

We can't, Sam's irritation lodges under his skin, adding to the discomfort of the other command.  

He's hit with a visual, then: Sue, shouting at him - no, Sam.  Leah, crying.  Emily… somewhere.  And blood - oh, fuck.

He can't get a grip on the horror and revulsion fast enough.  Sam flinches, ears flattening against his skull.  

That…it wasn't a bear.

No, it wasn't.  And that's why we can't tell.  Or get close.  We don't have anybody to guide us so we need to take extra precautions.  

Emily's face morphs into his mom's and dad's and little sister Jamie's and the bile from earlier is back with a vengeance.  He wants it to burn all this magic blood right out of him and take this curse away so there's never any danger of it putting his family where Emily is.

None of us want this, Jared.  We all have things we have to give up.

The bitterness he feels isn't just Sam's.  The shared grief and resentment is all of theirs no matter what form it takes.  Sam, who had to give up his girlfriend, dreams of Olympic gold, and the solace his imprint was supposed to provide in one furious swipe; Paul, whose life was just starting to pull itself together, who finally had hope for himself, lost it all to this and the waves of anger threatening to drown him like the waterfall at Third Beach.

And now Jared.  Fifteen-year-old Jared, who only realized last week that he likes cars enough to get good at math so he can learn how to engineer better ones.  

He didn't want this.  He never asked for this.  Of all the kids on the Rez, why him?

We're going to figure out how to make this stop so nobody else has to suffer, Paul tells him, And to do that, we need the vampires gone.  

Vampires.

Mom.  Dad.  Jamie.  Keep them safe.  He has to keep them safe.  

He can do that now.

Fine.  Show me how to de-furry myself so we can talk.  

Chapter Text

act i: inertia

Working in a hunting store, Mike rarely - if ever - fears for his life even when people he swears he’s seen on America’s Most Wanted strut in looking for the Serial Killer Triad: tarp, tape, and trip wire.  

Today, though, not even the wall full of rifles and the Beretta Karen illegally keeps under the counter is enough to make him feel the teensy, tiniest bit safe.  

What the hell good is a gun against a vampire, after all?

At first glance, Mike thought that the man was some distant cousin of the Cullens who came to visit and missed the ‘we try to act human’ memo.  He’s just as corpse-white and sleep deprived looking at the rest of them, and with the straggly blond hair, he looks almost like a less constipated version of Jasper.  

Then he got a good look at his eyes and the only thing that popped into his head was: this is what deers must feel like when they know there’s a gun aimed at them and they don’t know where it is.

Have the Cullens ever had red eyes? He can’t remember.

“Say, you live here, right?” the vampire starts, strolling up to the counter leisurely.  He traces the lotto tickets under the plexiglass on the counter, tapping one of the instant scratch tickets.  “I’ll take three of these.  Right, I’m visiting from out of town and I know my cousin goes to school here.  Looks like me, just a little more dolled up.  You wouldn’t happen to know ‘em, would you?”

“Jasper? Not very well since he’s a year older and we have no classes together,” Mike replies, punching the tickets through.  His other hand stays in his pocket, curled around a fire talisman a haggard looking Lauren had all but forced on him the other day, curtly stating that it was only good for one use and to run for the hills the second it was thrown because that was all he would have - a second.

Mike eyes the propane tanks stacked in the corner, wondering how many more seconds he’ll have if he aims for those instead.

“Jasper, yes.  Pity.  You wouldn’t happen to know if he’s still with that little girlfriend of his, is he? Mary? This tall, brown hair, cute as a bunny.” The vampire’s grin sends a shiver down his spine.

“Uh, one sec - sorry, that’s gonna be eight bucks for the tickets,” Mike says, desperately trying to buy time to gather his thoughts.  He has no particular affection for the Cullens and he wants zero part in whatever weird shit it is they’re wrapped up in, but somehow he feels uneasy selling them out like this.  They might not be the most friendly but they’re not bad.  Carlisle’s a fantastic doctor and Esme routinely donates her time and money towards building projects and arts events; even Rosalie is known to volunteer at a women’s shelter in Seattle.

They’re not that different from the rest of them trying to live out their days in this dreary little town.  

The vampire hands over a crumpled ten, and Mike slides the change back along with the receipt.  “I think he has a girlfriend but I’m not too sure because he tends to hang out with his family pretty exclusively.  Between you and me? They’re not super sociable.  Probably ‘cause the Hales are loaded and the rest of us…well, you’ve seen Forks.” He rolls his eyes dramatically and tries not to let his anxiety leak into his voice.  “You know what, his sister was here the other day buying some bear traps.  She mentioned they were going up to the Selkirk Range.  Maybe you could pop by and surprise them all?”

“That sounds like the perfect plan,” the vampire says.  He pockets the tickets with a wink and heads for the door, pausing halfway through to turn around and ask, “His sister with the brown hair? Just so I know who to call if I get lost.”

“Rosalie? No, she’s just as blonde as he is.  Pretty sure the only brunet in that family is Emmet.”

Caving in and going to the beach is possibly the second worst decision Bella has made since moving to Forks.  The honour of first goes to interacting with Edward Cullen because that particular headache only gets more severe as the days drag on.

Today just happens to be one of those days.  Mike was going to be late for some reason or the other, so Bella was forced to catch a ride in Jess’s ridiculously out-of-place Charger with Lauren and Angela.  Given how cloyingly thick the silence was, Bella would’ve been better off crawling there just to avoid it.  After getting to First Beach and realizing they were the only ones who reached, Tyler called to let them know his engine shit out and it would be a while before AAA would be able to give them a hand.  

So now, the three of them sit in dead silence around an empty fire pit while Jess is off doing god-knows-what.  Angela gave up on trying to engage them in conversation a while ago, and Lauren is miraculously sleeping while upright, leaving Bella to contend with her thoughts in peace.

“What if I’m not a superhero? What if I’m the bad guy?”

What is that even supposed to mean? For the life of her, she can’t figure this guy out.  One minute he’s telling her he’s too dangerous to be her friend and she should stay away and the next he’s dragging her away from her lunch table to play fifty questions.  As frustrating as it all is, there’s a certain thrill in the way he seeks her out, the way he can’t stay away.  She’s never been the kind of girl that guys like that flock to, which is about fifty percent of the reason her stomach feels like it’s full of lead whenever he catches her eye.  Nothing about her has changed since moving here.  In fact, she’d argue she’s only gotten more negative since, so what is it about her that’s managed to captivate him like this? Her looks, grades, and sense of humour are nothing special.  She’s just…Bella.  Boring old gullible Bella.

She chews on a hangnail absently, wishing she were half as strong as the rocks jutting out from the sea that split the roaring waves in two when they crash into them.  Maybe then she could stay steady in the face of Edward Cullen’s mood swings instead of just laying low and waiting for him to come running back to her.

“Okay, so, I called Jules and she said she’d send somebody to pick the guys up and drive them here,” Jess announces once she returns with a bag in her arms.  “I also bought some firewood because it is cold as hell out here, ugh.  Who has a lighter?”

Lauren tosses a matchbook to Jess without opening her eyes.

“You are so my partner for the zombie apocalypse,” Jess coos.

It takes less time to arrange the wood in the pit than it does to get the flames to stick.  Lauren eventually snatches the half-spent matchbook out of Jess’s hands and gets a roaring fire going in one try.  Jess shoots Lauren a sly look and reiterates, “Zombie apocalypse buddies.”

“You are beyond welcome to be bait.”

“I would be the worst bait ever.  My muscles probably taste like vegetables.”

“Vegan zombies everywhere rejoice.”

Bella giggles, quickly hiding behind her hair when they all turn to stare at her in surprise that even she feels.  

“Bella probably tastes super tough because of all that Phoenix sun,” Jess says after a beat, offering her a little smile.  “Or super tender if she stayed in all day to avoid it.”

“Definitely super tender,” Bella replies, “Raw, even.”

“I feel like I’m a nice medium rare,” Angela chimes in, visibly relaxed now that others are talking.  “What about you, Lauren?”

“Lauren’s burned to a crisp,” Jess whispers loudly, “Like, the most overdone steak ever.  She practically lives outdoors.”

“I didn’t think you liked camping,” Bella says hesitantly.  

Lauren snorts, cracking open her eyes to peer at her.  Through the light of the fire, they’re a remarkable shade of jade.  Looking back on it, she’s almost ashamed at how many times she’d thought they looked fishy and pale.

“Do I look like a Cullen to you? I hate that shit.  I just like going for hikes.  I’d never willingly sleep outdoors.”

Just like that, Bella’s chest is as cold as it was before the fire started.  She wonders what Edward’s doing right now - hiking with his family? Or busy brainstorming ways to piss her off the next time they meet.

“I have a question,” she mumbles, studiously avoiding their curious eyes.  “What does it mean if a guy tells you not to hang around him and be his friend but then he spends all his time trying to hang around you?”

“Wait, is that why Edward-”

“It’s not Edward,” Bella snaps.

“Okay,” Jess says slowly, raising a brow as she continues, “So this hypothetical guy, who we shall call…”

“Dick,” Lauren suggests.  

“Edmund,” Angela offers.

“Edmund the Dick, then.  He is totally doing it on purpose.”

“But what could Edw- Edmund gain from that?”

Jess shrugs.  “I dunno, getting his rocks off? It’s a control thing all the way, ‘cause if he actually wanted to be your friend he wouldn’t play hot and cold so much.  You feel like you’re on your toes all the time and that makes you easier to manipulate since you always want him to be hot instead of cold, so you’ll do whatever he wants to keep him hot.”

Like a sketch artist, Jess has used a few words to paint the perfect image of Edward Cullen.  Everything she says makes complete sense, and yet Bella still finds herself biting back the instinctive urge to defend him.  Jess hates Edward so who’s to say how much of that bias has leaked into her assessment? The entirety of Forks High has it out for them.  Judging by how they flock together, she gets the sense that they’re not used to making friends so they’ve just learned to rely on one another for support.  That’s probably why Edward can’t decide to stay close or keep her at arm’s length.  He can’t trust her because nobody in this town has ever given him reason to.  

“Don’t waste your time trying to figure him out,” Lauren says quietly, “People like that know exactly what they’re doing.  You don’t get that good at it without having done it a thousand times before.”

“Eli used to say the scariest people were the ones who could do both good cop and bad cop without breaking a sweat.  He used to hate working with them,” Jess adds, toying with a cookie-shaped pendant around her neck.  Bella tilts her head, wondering why that name sounds so familiar.  If he worked with cops in the past, maybe he’s worked with Charlie and that’s why.

“Boys suck,” Angela sighs.

“Amen to that.” Mike grins as he joins them, a couple teenage boys she doesn’t think go to their school in tow.  “Sorry for the delay, had something come up at work and then I got lost.  These guys helped me find you all.  Jacob here says he knows you, Bella?”

“Jacob…Black? Billy’s son, right?”

Jacob flashes her a bright smile and nods.  “That’s me.  You probably remember my sisters better, though.”

“A little.  It’s been a long time since I’ve been here.”

“I’ll let you all catch up and introduce yourselves.  Lauren, mind if I talk to you for a sec?” Mike asks, jerking his head to the side.  

Lauren exhales softly, holding out her arms in assent.  After helping her up, he places a guiding hand on her lower back and tosses the rest of them a salute over his shoulder as they head for the treeline.  

Bella watches Jess out of the corner of her eye, mildly intrigued by this development.  Last she checked, Jess had a thing for Mike and Tyler maybe had a thing for Lauren.  Instead of being suspicious, the curly-haired woman is busy bantering with one of the boys over what soccer team he supports.  

Angela taps her knee to catch her attention, leaning over to whisper, “Mike’s not cheating on Jess with Lauren if that’s what you’re thinking.  They’re not even into each other.  Think of them more as business partners.”

“We’re in the eleventh grade,” Bella replies in stunned disbelief, “What kind of business could they possibly be into?”

“My guess? Murder,” Jacob says decisively, “They totally pulled some I Know What You Did Last Summer bullshit.”

“Were you even old enough to see that in theatre?” Bella laughs.

“No, were you?”

“No!”

“TV exists, grandma, get with the times.” Jacob nudges her playfully.  Heat pricks at her cheeks, and she rubs her shoulder, trying to keep the warmth of contact from slipping away too soon.  

“Bella! Jacob! Quit flirting over there and help poor Quil see the light!” Jess shouts.  

Quil scoffs, mouthing see the light mockingly.  “You’re just pissed Germany kicked Italy’s ass in Stuttgart and Zurich back to back.”

“In 1994 and 1995! Were you even alive then? Besides, we kicked yours in Stuttgart in ‘03!”

“I’m team France,” Angela volunteers bravely.  Jess and Quil let out twin gasps of horror, putting aside their personal rivalry to unite against the common enemy.

“Should we disappear before they try to drag us into their World War Whatever reenactment?” Jake’s hot breath fans against her neck, sending a little jolt through her stomach.  Not trusting herself to speak, Bella nods and allows him to help her up the way Mike did with Lauren earlier.

“Nice day for a walk, huh?”

“Yeah.” Bella squints up at the sky, relishing in the sunlight beating down on them.  “It’s a nice day.”

"Oh, hey, isn't that the kid from my chemistry class? The one who nearly turned Bella into a pancake!" Emmett exclaims.  Rosalie glances over and confirms with a hum.

"They look like they're having car trouble."

"How unfortunate."

"We can lend a hand."

"We can."

"Oh, come on, Rose.  Don't be an Edward." He throws his hands up in surrender.  "Don't pull my ears off for that, Carlisle'll get pissed if we fuck up this car.  I'm just saying."

"Carlisle won't get pissed.  Carlisle never gets pissed," she hisses, taking more care than usual to avoid crushing the steering wheel in her grasp.  "That's the problem.  We could level half the continent and he would still find a way to laugh it off.  This is why Edward is the way he is! And Alice! And-" Rosalie purses her lips.

Emmett smiles knowingly.  "And me.  I know what a right menace I've been over the years.  There's no need to dance around it."

“Sometimes I feel like he spends so much time wallowing in guilt for turning us that he forgets why he did it to begin with,” she says, checking the rearview mirror out of habit.  Tyler and Eric swing the jumper cables in a double-dutch pattern with Ben Cheney weaving in and out, narrowly avoiding getting clotheslined by the red wire.  Rosalie snaps the steering wheel to the left and makes a U-turn, ignoring her husband’s teasing I told you so ’s.

“They’re playing jump rope with jumper cables.  The rate they’re going, they’ll wind up electrocuting themselves when somebody else pulls over to help.”

“Mmm, barbeque.  Haven’t had that in a while.”

“Go to hell,” she says flatly, throwing the car into park in front of theirs.  After schooling her expression into something close to friendly, she steps out of the car, making sure to slip a little on the gravel, and walks over.

“You need a jump?”

“Uh, well, Jess said she was sending someone over to pick us up,” Tyler tells her, exchanging a nervous look with Ben.  Rosalie resists the urge to groan.  She doesn’t need Edward’s ability to tell what they’re thinking: please don’t let us wind up on The First 48.

“Jules is gonna take a while getting here, might as well let her help if she can,” Eric pipes up, holding out the cables for her to take.  Tyler looks like he wants to protest, but all he does is snap the clamps and say, “Alright, what am I connecting where?”

“You won’t be connecting anything,” Rosalie says, nodding for Emmett to prop up their hood and grab the clamps.  Ben quickly runs over to do the same to the other car, and Rosalie immediately wrinkles her nose.  Where Carlisle takes advantage of his vampire nose in the hospital, Rosalie has honed those skills specifically for engine diagnostics - and right now, all she smells is citrus.

“Whose car is this?”

“Mine,” Tyler volunteers.

“When was the last time you got the oil changed?”

“Uhh…” He flushes, ducking his head in embarrassment.  “Honestly, not a clue.”

“Better question, who sold you this car and how much are you prepared to sue them for?” Rosalie asks.  

“Sue them-?”

“You got sold a lemon.  I’m assuming you’ve been having trouble with this since you bought it?”

The boys fall silent.  After a beat, Ben mumbles, “I told you that $500 was too good of a deal.”

Tyler smacks him upside the head and scowls.  “Oh, shut up! Fucking hell, are you serious? I saved up so much for this! No wonder Lauren was laughing when I told her.”

“It’s not totally unsalvageable,” Emmett says coyly, ignoring Rosalie’s attempts to set him on fire with her eyes.  “Rose can fix anything if it’s car related.”

“I can’t really afford-”

“She’ll do it for free,” Emmett declares, all-too-cheery for a dead man walking.  Perhaps he’ll learn his lesson after she uses his decapitated arm as a baseball bat the next time it rains.

Tyler looks at her hopefully, breaking her resolve before it’s even begun to take shape.  Curse Emmett for knowing her so fucking well.  Curse herself for never managing to discard her love of socialization along with her humanity in 1933; the echoes of that excitement resound in her chest, falling flat when there’s no heartbeat to keep it going.  

But it’s still there, however faded the memory of it may be.

“Tell AAA to tow it to our place when they get here,” she instructs.

“You’re a god,” Tyler says seriously, grabbing her shoulders to drive it in.  He doesn’t flinch at the cold.  “I’d say I owe you my life but Lauren made me do a blood pact promising never to do that in the third grade.”

“The Notebook: Early Years,” Eric deadpans.

“Isn’t that just The Wedding?” Emmett wonders aloud, “I mean, it sucked so it doesn’t really matter.  Everybody knows A Walk To Remember is the best Sparks novel.”

“What the hell is The Wedding?” 

Emmett’s eyes light up.  Rosalie pinches the bridge of her nose and makes her way back to the car, aware that her vampiric hearing will ensure she hears every last fanboy squeal no matter the distance and insulation.  

Once in the driver's seat, she locks eyes with her husband and mutters, “Message In A Bottle was better.”

The wonderful thing about nature is that it refuses to yield to time.

Come what may, be it floods or typhoons, vampires or werewolves, the destruction they wrought is overgrown and buried beneath life.  Trees felled by winds and marble bodies feed their young saplings, and a half dozen more take their place.  Grass ruined by dry seasons and burning vampires grows back twice as thick and lucious, as if daring nature and humanity to try again.  

There was once a certain melancholic beauty to this.  Knowing that at the very least this one constant would follow him through the centuries when everything else seemed to disappear between forced breaths.

The terrible thing about nature is that it refuses to yield to time.

Because now Carlisle has to wonder if the world has always been so ugly and dull.

He remembers walking through this very forest for the first time in 1936, awed at how green everything could be.  The air seemed so fresh that he genuinely enjoyed the act of breathing and taking in all the scents he thought had been lost to the smokescreen of the industrial revolution.  He was happy.  Esme was happy.  His family was happy, and, like the forest, he believed that happiness could stand the test of time.

But they are not trees.  They have no deep roots or connections meant to support one another through hard times.  They are unnatural beings held hostage by his desperate desire for normalcy, and Carlisle knows - has known - that time would eventually come to bury them, too.

Edward’s accusations of hypocrisy and willful ignorance cling to him like burrs as he aimlessly wanders the woods.  He can’t remember if he’s ever left the house in the middle of an argument like that before - but in the moment, he felt like the very werewolves they were fighting over.  Like if he had to stand there and bear the brunt of Edward’s scorn for a second longer, something monstrous would rip its way out of him.

He’s not sure how long he’s been walking for; just that in the time between storming out and getting to wherever he is now, the rain has gone from a light drizzle to a torrential downpour and the air has taken on that nighttime tinge.  

He should go back and apologize.  

For what? An insidious voice whispers in his head, Do you even know what you’re apologizing for?

No - but when has he ever? His pacifism is rooted in conflict-avoidance.  When confrontation is inevitable, Carlisle’s learned over the centuries that the easiest thing to do is to accept blame in order to re-establish peace.  

Be it with the Volturi or his own family, that’s what’s always worked.

It’s always worked because you’re so predictable.  You refuse to learn so neither do they.

Kazimir said something to a similar effect the night they burned Drew Farran’s body and in the several months since, the little seed of doubt planted in his mind has taken over in a kudzu-like frenzy.  How much of this is just because Edward feels slighted over not being kept in the loop and how much of it is actually because he’s discovered a line he’s unable to toe?

Carlisle’s handwaved mass murder in the past.  Thrown millions of dollars at his family so they can partake in society, feigning the humanity he stole from them.  Served as a shield against the Volturi in the past even as they broke some of their most central rules.  Protected them from the consequences of their own actions because he still feels it’s his fault for doing this to them to begin with.

And yet, here he is putting another group of humans in danger of being found out by the Volturi while admonishing Edward for thinking of doing the same.  Who is he to feel so bitter and jaded when he’s no better?

He’s ripped out of his spiralling by a door to the face.

It takes a second for his brain to catch up with the rest of his senses.  Confused, he realizes he’s somehow made it onto the porch of a rickety little bungalow in a neighbourhood he’s never been to before.  The smells here are familiar, though: the sharp, sterile scent found in hospitals, sandalwood, spice.  Undertones of mint and musk. 

The door cracks open.

“Carlisle?” Madhuri squints, swinging the door fully open once she registers it’s him.  “Jeez, I thought a bird flew into my door again.  What brings you here? Not that I mind but it is…” She checks the clock mounted on the wall to her left.  “Unholy’o’clock in the morning.  Everything alright?”

“Ah, yes,” he replies, plastering on a perfunctory smile.  “My apologies, I think I got a little too lost in my thoughts while out on a walk and found my way here.  I hope I didn’t wake you?”

“Nah, I was catching up on some notes.”

Just then, he notices a roughly face-shaped dent in the door and winces.  “I’ll pay to have that repaired.”

“This is so funny I almost don’t want to have it repaired,” she says, poking the cracked edges in awe.  “Let’s leave it and see how bad Kaz and Jude freak out later.”

“Oh, are they here as well? I’m interrupting, I should go.”

“I’m actually home alone for the first time in forever.  Kaz left to pick up Jude from the airport and they’re probably gonna spend the night at his place.” 

Madhuri tilts her head, eyeing him up and down.  He shifts uncomfortably, as if her careful scrutiny will reach right into the unfathomably dark void where his soul should be.  

She steps to the side, leaving enough space for him to pass through.  “I feel like somebody’s going to call the ASPCA if they see you out here, you look like a drowned cat.  Do you want to come in?”

“I-”

“Let me rephrase: get in here, Carlisle.”

Chapter Text

act i: inertia

The very first thing that pops into Carlisle’s head after being unceremoniously deposited on a lumpy sofa is that Madhuri’s bungalow is in dire need of revamping.

Vampire currently picking at a loose thread on a throw pillow notwithstanding.

The entire first floor could probably fit into his living room.  All the second-hand furniture and trinkets, on the other hand, might warrant that expansion Esme has been hinting at for the past couple months.  Perhaps all those years of being married to her have finally caught up to him, because he finds himself scanning the room and wondering how he would make it more livable.  Stripping the outrageously dated floral wallpaper and slapping on a fresh coat of paint.  Swapping the lacey drapes and yellowing shutters for modern roller blinds.  A proper cherry wood bookshelf instead of the coffee table sagging under the tower of tomes in the corner.  Space for her yoga mat to be fully rolled out instead of bent at the ends, sandwiched between the TV and sofa; underneath a big bay window where the sunlight touches every corner of the room, like the one in the spare office at home.

His nails press into the back of his hand until the skin cracks.  As he watches the lines slowly start to knit back together and smooth over, he admonishes himself for entertaining the thought.  Dragging his human friends into this cursed world of his more than he has already is the last thing he wants.  

“I figured since I was throwing your clothes in the dryer, I might as well just do all my laundry now so yours have gone in the wash.  You’ll be smelling like whatever ‘spring meadows’ and ‘ocean breeze’ are supposed to.”

Madhuri’s sandals clack against the parquet flooring noisily.  Carlisle tries to imagine what they’d sound like on marble or tile.

“Sorry it took so long to find clothes.  I was so sure I had more of Kaz’s shirts around, but I see Jude’s fit you fine,” she says, offering him a bottle of Heineken as she takes a seat beside him.  At his hesitation, she rolls her eyes and shakes it insistently.  “Yes, I know you can’t drink drink, but it’s about the mood.  Drinking alone at this hour screams alcoholic.  Don’t make me one, Carlisle.”

“Very well.” 

He observes her carefully, adjusting his awkward grip on the neck of the bottle to match her casual hold.  

“So, Jude has returned from New York?” he asks after she’s taken a few sips.

“Finally, eh? Poor guy was ready to crawl back here.  He’s still got a week off before he has to return to work so I think Kaz will be cashing in on some shift trades to stay with him.”

“And you?”

“Nope.  Thanks to a certain someone, I’ve barely managed to clock in my own shifts let alone cover for others.” She nudges him in the ribs good-naturedly, and then rubs her elbow with a wince.  He mumbles an apology under his breath that she probably doesn’t hear anyway.

His gaze bounces around the room in the hopes of latching onto something to talk about that isn’t what brought him here.  Her curiousity is palpable, and he knows that it’s taking every ounce of self-control to keep it from closing in on him.  

Madhuri is Madhuri, so her restraint doesn’t last very long.  He’s not sure if he should feel relieved or not.

“So, here’s the thing,” she starts, picking at the label of the bottle until it peels back and she has to smooth it back down just to pick at it again a second later.  “I should - if I were an empathetic friend - let you get around to telling me on your own time, and frankly I’d be a hypocrite to force you to tell when you’re clearly in the mood to do anything but talk about that, but-” and here, she takes a deep, rallying breath, rubs the back of her neck to buy them both a second.

“But you’ve got all the time in the world - literally - and I don’t.  Literally.  I get the feeling that, by the time you are comfortable enough to share, you’ll be in the midst of the one-year mourning period for my departure.  So.  This is me setting the bush on fire and saying it outright: is this about Edward? It feels like there’s something going on there.”

No.

Yes.

I don’t know.

No.

Maybe.

Carlisle presses the beer to his lips as if he can whisper all his worries into the bottle instead of the woman at his side.  It would certainly be more convenient to just capture them all and throw them out without a second thought when he’s done.  

But he knows that’s not possible; not when he’s got a half-dozen lifetimes’ worth repressed.  Because he’s the pastor’s son and is supposed to be the unrelenting leader for the mobs hunting down the devil’s consorts.  Because he still believes he’s destined for hell when this is all over since he’s become one of them and condemned six others to the same fate.  Because he’s the head of this coven and knows that if he cracks, everything will fall through and he’ll be alone again.  

But he’s so tired of it all.

So he tells her everything.  How Edward has fallen in love with a human girl and wants to let her in on their secret in spite of the harsh consequences that follow violating their most central law.  How he’s a hypocrite for reminding him of that when Carlisle’s done almost the same thing and he knows it.  The magic upholding the treaty fuses his jaw shut when he debates telling her about the wolves, so he alludes to other creatures and Sam and how Edward is eager to pin the attacks on them in spite of the evidence pointing to a rogue vampire, just so he has an excuse to loop her in for her safety.  

He sounds like a madman even to his own ears.  Madhuri stares at him with an inscrutable expression on her face, causing him to ramble even more in an attempt to faze her.  She just nods every so often when he peters off, spurring him into another long-winded, incoherent rant about something or the other.  He wants to stop but he can’t .  It’s like a dam’s burst and nearly three-and-a-half centuries worth of tears he physically cannot shed have finally found a way out.

“So now you know,” Carlisle says.  In spite of having fed several days ago, his throat - no, his mouth is oddly dry.  

Aside from sips of wine when receiving Communion, Carlisle’s never had a drop of alcohol in his life.  Despite knowing he’ll have to throw it up later, taking a massive swig of beer in that moment just feels right, so he does, making a face at the bitter aftertaste.  He’s never understood why humans enjoy imbibing themselves to the point of winding up in the ER and he understands it less so now.  It tastes awful, but perhaps it’s due to vampiric senses being a hundred times more powerful than a human’s.  It’s probably tolerable for them.

He takes another sip to confirm.

“I know what?”

“That I’m…how would you put it? A mess.”

Madhuri laughs sharply.  “I will buy your Mercedes in cash right now if you can find somebody in this world who isn’t a mess.”

“Very well, I’ll concede.  We’re all messes.  And it’s all my fault,” he stresses, “they never asked to be turned.  Every last one of them was dying and I thought I could play God and now they suffer.  If I’d just-”

“Suffer?” She cuts him off with a hand in his face.  Her eyes squeeze shut as her other hand presses the bottle to her neck.  “I need a minute to process this, wait.”

Ten seconds pass before she swirls the beer and downs it in three gulps.  Dropping the bottle on the floor haphazardly, Madhuri faces him with incredulity bleeding out from every pore.

“So you saved them all from dying miserable deaths, give them million dollar stipends for their allowances, and they’re free to do whatever they want, whenever they want, and you’re trying to convince me they’re suffering? From what?”

“From…from…” he struggles to find the words.

“Acute richitis?”

“Me.  They’re suffering from me.  My selfishness.  I spent over two hundred years so bitterly lonely that when Edward’s mother asked me to save him, I didn’t think.  No, that’s a lie,” he corrects himself, smiling without any humour.  “I did think.  I thought of the Volturi and their laws, and of what my father would say, but would you like to know what I thought of the most, Madhuri? What ran through my mind even as I sank my teeth into his neck?

“My very first sermon.  It took place right before I led a hunt for vampires in place of my father.  I’d spent almost as much time thinking about it in the months after my turning as I did writing it, so it’s stuck.  Somewhere between here-” he taps his temple with two fingers, and then splays his hand across his chest.  “And here.”

Carlisle tilts his head back and closes his eyes; pretending, for a second, that he’s standing at the church altar.  That the eyes on him are his father’s parishioners waiting for him to supplicate on their behalf, and not those of a person who has never wanted him to intervene for her.  That it’s sunlight streaming through stained glass murals, filling him with purpose, and not rain pattering against the windows as he empties his soul.

When he speaks, the accent he’d abandoned in favour of the more neutral Pacific Northwest English slips out.  

“‘He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her.' ”

(His father had forced him to pick up the King’s English, believing the Cockney dialect he grew up speaking was unfit for delivering the message of God.  Too backwoods for somebody on such a great mission.)

“There is doubt in this room.  I see it in your eyes.  I see it in mine when I look at myself in the mirror every day.  Doubt that what we are doing is right when The Lord Himself has said that only those free of sin have the right to cast judgement - and the fact of the matter is that even the most pious among us today has sinned.  Though we have been cleansed of our Original Sin by the Sacrament of Baptism, we have sinned and are inclined to sin, so how do we have the right to rid the world of these creatures?

(Privately, Carlisle disagreed.  How could it be backwoods if the people undertaking that same mission spoke it, too? Why would God care if He had given it to them in the first place?)

“It is simple: what we cast is not judgement, and what we throw are not stones.  We are delivering salvation .  We are not killing them for they are no longer alive - we are simply returning them to the loving embrace of The Lord, where they may atone for all they have done.”

(Why would his omniscient God care about anything if He has written both the beginning and the end?)

“I was so afraid of what would become of my soul if I killed myself and what salvation at the hands of the mobs I trained truly entailed that I ran and hid and lived.  And living is lonely, Madhuri.  It’s the loneliest thing in the world even when surrounded by people, so when I had the chance with Edward, I took it,” he whispers, “I took it five more times after that even though a part of me to this day believes we’re destined for Hell no matter how we atone, and Edward? He doesn’t think there is a place we’re destined for after this.  To him, this is Hell, and I’m the one who delivered him there.”

It’s quiet for a long time after he’s done.  Carlisle focuses on breathing, timing his exhales to match her inhales, filling in the silent gaps with something other than the sound of his too-loud thoughts.  

“You blame yourself a lot,” Madhuri says in a soft voice so unlike her.  “And if I’m being honest, it’s not just unfair to you, but everyone around you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, it’s one thing to believe that you’re destined for Hell - and as much as I believe that’s bullshit, saying so won’t be enough to change your mind after four centuries of thinking otherwise - but the fact that you think you’ve condemned others to Hell because of ‘selfishness’.  That’s the part that’s unfair.  Have you considered that not all of them feel that way? Or that they feel burdened by the knowledge that you think they’re going to Hell because of you? That you don’t see this…this second lease on life as a chance to reinvent themselves?”

His mouth opens, something about monsters and fate on his tongue, before he snaps it shut, realizing he’s very close to proving her point.

 Carlisle finds, for once, that he is unable to respond.

Aside from Edward, who’s made his thoughts on the matter abundantly clear, has he ever stopped to ask how the others feel? He knows Esme is happy, and that, once upon a time, Rosalie was furious, but he’s not checked up on her since.  Emmett, Alice, Jasper…while they’d never outright said anything, he’d just assumed because they didn’t get the same almost-choice as Edward did, of course they’d be just as put-out.  Unwilling to bring it up out of a misplaced sense of obligation to the protection he provides against entities like the Volturi.

“Be kinder to yourself, Carlisle.  You don’t need to apologize for existing.  None of you do.” Madhuri pulls her feet up onto the sofa, relaxing into her corner, and smiles wryly.  “As for hell or whatever else awaits, the solution’s pretty simple in my mind: just don’t die.”

Carlisle laughs.  “Yes, that is the most obvious.”

“Exactly.  In any case, if you’re still really worried, you can always use a Ouija Board to communicate with my ghost after I’ve kicked it so I can let you in on all the trade secrets of the afterlife,” she jokes.

Whatever levity filled his chest is staked through and through, crumbling to ashes in the wake of her statement.

Right.  She’s human.  She’s human, and so are Kaz and Jude, and he’s friends with them all and he hates how he knows that the average life expectancy of a human is eighty years and he hates that he does the math and knows they have fifty left and what he hates the most is that he knows how fast fifty years go by.

They could have more if they wanted.

His stomach hasn’t twisted with disgust and horror in close to four hundred years, but he still remembers what it feels like and the ghost of that feeling rips through his insides, forcing all the bloody mush up to his throat, choking him.

Especially when the justification that follows up is that this is something he must seriously consider now that the Volturi are a legitimate concern.  The only options for humans who know are to die or to turn.  

He doesn’t want them to die.

He doesn’t want them to turn.

Carlisle licks his lips slowly, takes a bracing breath he doesn’t need, and says, “I mentioned the Volturi earlier and I don’t believe I explained exactly who they are or what their existence means for you.”

“Think we can save this for a little later? I have to clock in in a few hours.  We can talk after my shift.”

“No,” he replies, “no, and I think…you should call in sick.  This is going to be a lot.”

“You misspelt that.”

Bella jerks back to reality only to discover that she’s somehow managed to daydream her way through all of Trig.  Almost the entire class has already made a bee-line for the door, creating a bottleneck that’ll take at least five minutes to clear.  

Jess points to her notes, the two words absently scribbled over and over again along the margins, and says, “It’s stregoni not strigoni. Eh.”

“You speak Italian?” she asks. 

Jess stares at her like she’s just asked if trees are only green in Forks, so she quickly redirects.  “Do you know what it means? Stregoni benefici.”

“Dio mio, I’ll tell you if you promise to never butcher it like that again.” Jess’s expression of horror morphs into contemplation.  “Well, benefici is the easiest, it literally means ‘benefit’ or, in this context, ‘beneficial’.  Stregoni…typically implies something supernatural, like a witch.  So, all together, beneficial supernatural entities.”

Bella sags with relief.  The website had it right then.  Good vampires.  The mortal enemy of all the evil ones, the village slaughtering Neplasi and cursed, vengeful Upiór .  If - if - she’s right and if Jacob’s fireside stories are true, then these cold ones won’t hurt her.  

Edward won’t hurt her.  

“It’s a bit of an oxymoron, though,” Jess comments as she waits for Bella to pack up so they can head to Spanish.  

“What do you mean? Supernatural entities can’t be good?”

“No,” she says slowly, a bewildered look in her eyes.  “That’s the literal translation I gave you.  Stregoni pretty much carries the implication of ‘evil’.  So, yeah.  Oxymoron.”

Irritation flashes through her, and she draws her textbooks closer to her chest to try and keep it from spilling out.  Why does the implication of evil have to immediately undermine the good intention? If they were really evil, wouldn’t Edward have allowed her to be crushed by Tyler’s van the other day? Wouldn’t Carlisle be using his position in the hospital to syphon blood from the blood bank? There’ve been no news reports about that, official or otherwise; and as daughter of the Chief of Police, Bella’s confident that she knows a lot more about the town’s going ons than the average citizen.

Jess must see something on her face because she sighs and patiently clarifies, “Do you have any idea how long the Catholic Church has been set up in Italy? Of course some of the language is going to be influenced by the dominant religion.  I’m not saying it’s an oxymoron because good and evil can’t coexist, or whatever, I’m just saying it is because the language says it is.  But hey, what do I know, I only live with my Sicilian immigrant grandmother who drags me to Church twice a week.”

Bella remains silent the rest of the way there.  

When they take their seats in the middle row, Jess turns to her, looking somewhat uncomfortable as she clears her throat.

“So, Lauren, Angela, and I were gonna go to Port Angeles tonight and we were wondering if you wanted to come with? Dress shopping for prom.  We’re probably not gonna buy anything this time, it’s mostly just to see what’s available and what looks good on us.”

“Oh, Jess, I’m not going to prom,” Bella responds, quickly shutting down that train before it can leave the station. 

“We know.  It’s just for fun.”

“I have stuff to do.  The English paper-”

“You finished it already.”

Shit, had she told them that at lunch yesterday?

“Um, Mr Banner’s bio project.  We have to make a dichotomous tree for leaves so I have to go into the forest and collect them.  It’ll take a while, because…” Bella waves a hand over herself, “you get it.”

“It’s a Tuesday,” Jess retorts, “you’re not seriously trying to tell me you’re going to go traipsing in the woods on a Tuesday.  That assignment isn’t even due until two weeks from now.  Angela’s in your class.”

Bella thinks her face will actually explode from all the blood rushing to her cheeks.  She hates that she’s not young enough to say that she needs to ask her mom first, her go-to get-out-of-socialization-free card.  People in Phoenix were never this insistent on hanging out to begin with.  

Profesora Cruz sweeps into the classroom, her own personal angel after what feels like forty days and nights trapped in the desert storm that is Jessica Stanley.  She flips open her notes and panics when her unfinished homework stares back.

Shit.

“Look,” Jess whispers so Profesora Cruz, walking around to check for completion, doesn’t overhear.  “If you don’t want to hang out with us, fine.  Lauren and I got that memo.  Angela hasn’t and probably won’t because she’s just like that.  I think you think you’re being nice by making excuses, but it’d be a lot kinder if you’d just say it outright.  We won’t get offended.”

“It’s not…” Bella trails off, biting her lip.

Isn’t it, though?

It’s all just too much right now.  It’s already taking everything she has to pay attention in class when all her brain wants to focus on is the knowledge that the Cullens might be vampires .  How on earth is she supposed to go and pretend to enjoy the mind-numbing task of dress shopping with this in mind? 

Jess just doesn’t understand.  None of them do.

Which is precisely why it’s so stupid of her to keep moping like this.  They’re the type to dig into things here.  She’s already risked too much by asking Jess to translate for her.  If she decides to look it up later and puts two and two together, the Cullens are screwed.  

“I’ll come with,” she whispers back before she can talk herself out of it.  Hanging out a few times will both serve as sufficient distraction and an innocuous way to listen in on their conversations so she can divert them to safer territories if she thinks they’re getting too close to the mark.

“Angela will pick us up from our houses right after school, so be ready,” she warns just in time to turn around and flash Profesora Cruz a bright smile.  

“Feliz martes, Profesora Cruz.”

Paul fucking abhors the scent of vampire.  He’s never even smelled it until right this moment, but the acrid, bleach-like scent nearly blinds him on its way to his brain, unlocking the part passed down from wolf to wolf that has him on red-alert.

Sam! What the fuck!

Jared’s in class, it’s just you and me.

WHAT THE FUCK.

Sam’s response is the sensation of teeth grinding to dust, letting him know that he’s just as fed-up and pissed off as he is, but them’s the breaks.

Paul snarls and runs faster.  The forest blurs over the corners of his eyes, the scents he typically relies on to orient himself completely smothered in toxic sludge.  There are three of them, one a little stronger than the rest, and they’re all headed in the same direction, which only makes him want to explode out of this skin even more.  They’re hardly a match with all three of them present - two on three is pretty much asking what time of day they’d like their funerals.

We’re not going to fight them, we’ll rely on surprise, Sam orders, be as loud and aggressive as possible, chase them off and fall back after a few minutes.  

Like confronting a coyote.

Amusement floods his chest.  Paul grins, puts a little more force behind his feet, and bursts into the clearing where the scent is strong with a deafening roar.  Sam leaps to his side, swivelling his head from side to side, and Paul moves to face the opposite direction as him, pressing against Sam so they have all their blind spots covered.

They’re at one of the dozens of fishing holes scattered over Forks.  Paul takes a whiff and deeply regrets it when all he gets is a lungful of eau de vampire.  Shaking his head, he nudges Sam to move, rotating in a circle so he can take stock of their surroundings.  The pier - if it can even be called that - is a rickety mess of rotting wood and twine, cracked and swollen from the water lapping up the sides.  

Tack.  

Tack.

Tack.

Hey, is that a boat? Paul squints, tip-toeing closer to the edge.  Sam follows him, walking backwards until their paws touch water; he turns around and hisses.

Shit.  That’s Waylon Forge.

Paul doesn’t recognize the name so he must be from off the Rez.  Thankful for the extra couple degrees of core body heat, he wades through the shallow water to better examine the body crumpled in the dingy little rowboat.  He noses the lid of a red cooler up to find a few cans of beer on ice along with a jumbo-sized Ziploc bag filled with assorted meat sandwiches.

He’s not been dead long.  The meat’s too fresh and the ice hasn’t even melted yet.

He looks like he’s been dead for weeks, Sam comments.

Blood loss will do that to you.  So.  Paul does the wolf-equivalent of cracking his neck, staring at his Alpha blithely.  What’s the supernatural three-letter we’re supposed to call this in to?

It is, without a doubt, not a Happy Tuesday.

Jess checks the time on her Razr for the hundredth time and debates whether or not calling Jules is overkill at this point.  Eli would’ve had no conniptions about organizing a search party - but then again, Eli would never have allowed members of the group go out on their own to begin with, thus avoiding their current predicament.

“Should we go to the bookstore?” Angela suggests, chewing on her thumbnail anxiously.  “Maybe she just lost track of time.”

“I called them already.  The guy said she never even got there,” she snaps back furiously.  “It’s…ugh, sorry, Ang.  I didn’t mean to get mad at you.  I’m not mad at you, I’m just…”

Mad at myself goes unspoken.  Lauren pauses in her pacing to give her a tight look, and Angela reaches out to wrap her in a one-armed hug.

“It’s okay.  We know,” she reassures.

It’s funny.  She swears it’s just a kilometre north of where they are now that she’d been standing last year, experiencing the same ice-cold fear lancing through her chest.  

She only hopes this time it won’t end with blood on her hands.

“Can you use magic to track her?” Angela poses this to Lauren, who shakes her head angrily.

“No.  Port Angeles became Methuselah’s territory after Lucy married Roark.  I’m not good enough to use tracking magic undetected, and the last thing I need is Quincy to show up and make a mess of things.”

“I should call Jules,” Jess mutters.

“I could…” Lauren hesitates, “I could…call my cousin.”

“Lucy? Yeah, get her to ask Roark to cover for you.”

“Not who I meant, but not a terrible idea, actually.  Roark could send some of his trainees to do a sweep for us.”

“Wait, you meant-”

“Hey, guys,” Angela interrupts, pointing behind them.  “Isn’t that Edward Cullens’ car?”

Jess whirls around so quickly her back nearly snaps in half to accommodate, following her finger to the pair of headlights rapidly approaching.  She’s running to yank the passenger door open before the Volvo even fully stops in front of them.

“Where the hell were you?” she hisses, pulling Bella out of the car and holding her at arms length to give her a once-over.

Physically, she’s in one piece.  That on its own is enough to coax her heart into regular sinus rhythm, but her blood still runs cold in her veins.  She wants to shake Bella until she disintegrates.  Until she crosses through time and space to one year ago at the pier so she can see the consequences of wandering off and operating under the delusion that vampires can do good.

“I got lost,” she admits, “and then these guys followed me into an alley-”

“Which alley?” Jess demands, “nevermind, I’ll figure that out on my own.  They didn’t hurt you, did they?”

“No.  Edward came just in time.”

“Bella says she was meeting you three for dinner.  Would it be alright if I joined you?” Edward inquires politely.  

“Vaffanculo, sei pazzo?” Jess yells, “she just narrowly avoided getting assaulted and you think we’re going to go to dinner?”

“It’s fine, Jess,” Bella tries to soothe, but she’s already frothing with rage.  

So Edward Cullen can just pick and choose which humans he thinks are worth saving, then.  Did Eli have to be a damsel in distress to be worthy of a second glance? Was him bleeding out in her arms not good enough?

“It’s important to treat the symptoms of shock before they set in,” Edward reasons, holding his hands up innocently.  He walks over and tries to wrap his arm over Bella’s shoulders, and Jess instinctively draws her away, much to both of their confusion.

“Oh, right, because you know all about saving people,” Jess sneers, shaking with the urge to ram her fist down his throat and rip his shrivelled little heart out.  She wants to tear him to pieces with a nailclipper and hear him scream as she sets every bit on fire before his very eyes.

She wants him to die.

“It’s also important to make a police report as soon as possible,” Angela counters.

“Then allow me to drive Bella home so she can tell the Chief herself.  You three are welcome to go on ahead of us.”

“Brilliant idea, we’re definitely going to leave our friend, who was just accosted by a group of strange men, alone with another strange man.  There’s nothing wrong with that idea at all,” Lauren says sarcastically.  

Edward raises a brow.  “I wasn’t aware you thought of Bella so charitably.”

“I wasn’t aware you were aware of the intricacies of my mind in any capacity.” 

Lauren’s eyes narrow.  The temperature’s been hovering close to thirty degrees after the sun had set but it abruptly shoots up to peak-summer heatwaves as the pressure in the air increases.  Bella falters.  Jess steadies her, shooting an alarmed look over her shoulder.

“Lauren,” she warns, “Quincy.”

“We will be taking Bella to the police station,” Lauren states firmly, glaring at Edward hard enough that he actually tenses a little.  “You can follow in your own car and give a witness statement.  After the cops are done with you, you can fuck off.  Am I clear?”

She doesn’t wait for an answer.  Angela jogs towards her car and unlocks the doors, starting up just as Lauren takes shotgun.  Jess ushers Bella into the backseat, throwing Edward one last venomous glare.  He looks murderous for all of two seconds before his expression smooths out into careful politeness, probably because Bella’s finished buckling herself in and is waving goodbye.

Bastard.

The drive over is mostly silent on account of Jess being too incensed to be properly supportive and Lauren likely nursing a headache from dropping that much magical energy on them all.  Angela, bless her, makes up for it by peppering Bella with all the right questions and comforting responses.  

Jess starts formulating a text to Jules asking her to check all available CCTV for the attackers, but deletes the message and sends it to her dad instead.

Vincenzo calls her right away.

“Papà, I’m fine,” Jess whispers in Italian, “My friend was just followed by some creeps.”

“But you’re alright, sweetheart? You weren’t hurt, right? Those idiot feds of yours-”

“That’s why I’m calling you.  You know how incompetent the cops are.  They’ll take forever to find the guys.”

She swears she can see him preening. 

“You leave it to me.  Should I deal with them? Do you want me to?”

“No!” 

Jess winces, mouthing an apology to her startled seatmates, and lowers her voice to continue.  “No, I just want the footage so I can deal with them myself.  Like a Lombardi.”

The magic phrase does the trick.  Vincenzo promises to have it in her inbox in the next half-hour.  Jess ignores Bella’s inquisitive stare, focusing on the Volvo tailgating them.  

Her dad could probably find footage from the pier a year ago if she asked.  He could probably get some tech genius to polish the grainy video to 4K so Eli’s shuddering gasps can be seen, every tear Jess shed counted, and Edward’s cold indifference felt through the screen.

Bella won’t be able to cry beneficial vampire then.

The police station parking lot is suspiciously crowded for this time of night.  All the available spots are taken, so Angela rolls the car around the side and parks just off the lot next to the woods.  Edward jerks to a stop right behind them and flashes to Bella’s door before they’ve even got their seatbelts off.

“That’s my father’s car,” he murmurs, brows furrowed.

Jess’s heart drops when she spots an all-too-familiar Lexus GS.  “What the fuck, that’s my mom’s car.”

“Given my mom’s car isn’t here, at least we don’t have to worry about the apocalypse,” Lauren mutters so only she and Angela can hear.

“It must be something serious,” Bella says, “hey, can we not report this to Charlie just yet? Something feels off.”

Just then, Dr Cullen exits the station, followed closely by a visibly annoyed Kazimir Voronin.  Spotting their ragtag group, Dr Cullen touches Kazimir’s elbow, points them out, and they change course to join them.

“What happened?” Edward asks.

“Waylon Forge died,” Dr Cullen replies, gaze bouncing from Edward to Bella.  “He was killed.”

“Killed? How?” Bella reels back in shock.

Dr Cullen and Kazimir exchange a quick glance that doesn’t go unnoticed by Jess and Lauren, who make eye contact of their own.  Lauren’s eyes burn with understanding, and she presses her lips together, raising a brow as if to say what’s the plan now?

She shrugs in response and wiggles her fingers, miming an explosion.  

Lauren holds out her middle finger behind her back.

“Attacked,” Kazimir says, “the feds-” His lip curls a little.  “The feds seem to think this is a serial killer.”

“Charlie told me it was animal attacks.”

“Which seems far more likely, hence why we came.  To provide our opinion.”

“Bella, you should go inside to Charlie.  He needs support right now,” Dr Cullen tells her, a strained smile on his face.  He averts his gaze as Edward and Bella exchange charged goodbyes, and waits for the station door to close behind her to look up.

Oddly, he avoids Edward entirely.

“It’s not safe for you all to travel alone this late, especially not with what just happened.  Miss Stanley, your mother is inside along with Agent Ekker.  Am I correct in assuming you’ll be driving back with them?”

“Mom’ll probably stay until dawn but if Jules is here then I’ll go with her.”

“Miss Weber, Miss Mallory? Is there anyone we can call for you?”

“I’ll drive her back.” Kazimir gestures to Lauren, whose hackles rise for all of two seconds before deflating under his uncompromising, sharp gaze.  Jess pats her shoulder sympathetically.  She’s met Kazimir a few times in the past on unofficial official business and would genuinely sooner take a long walk off a short plank than have to endure another minute at his side.  Some people are just way too cold.

“You take this one and then that one can pick you up after,” he instructs, referring to Angela and Edward in turn.

Jess shuffles over and pats Angela, who smiles stiffly even though she looks like she’s just been told she paid a thousand dollars for a bubonic-plague infested rat since they’re all out of sirloin.

Hunt.

He’s always been so careful with his words.  Every last one deliberately chosen to reveal only enough of his true intentions to assuage her.  

Hunt.

He’d meant that literally, then.  Hunt.  Like animals.

“ Stregoni pretty much carries the implication of ‘evil’.  So, yeah.  Oxymoron.”

Bella shivers, wraps herself tightly with her duvet, and buries her head in the pillows, breathing shakily.  She reaches for the sweater half on the bed, half on the floor, and it slips from her numb fingers.  She tucks her hands under her head, curling into herself.

The website had said that Stregoni benefici were the mortal enemies of evil - and if Edward was - if Edward was …then it was okay.  If he hunted, that is.  Because he’s the mortal enemy of evil and if he’s hunting something then it’s for the betterment of society.  

He’ll keep her safe.

The windowpane shudders noisily, wind whistling sharply through her bones, before there’s a quiet click and all there is is the quiet creak of the floorboards growing louder and closer to where she rests.

Bella inhales freesias and witch hazel, exhales all the tension contorting her insides, and asserts, “I know what you are.”

He’s quiet.  A cold hand brushes her hair out of her face, frost following the wake of his fingers trailing down to her neck.  Her throat bobs against it with every word she speaks, like the pen of a polygraph pressing into paper as she seals (rewrites) her fate.

“Stregoni benefici.  Vampire.”

His lips press softly at the spot where her ear meets her jaw.  

“Sei brillante, Bella,” Edward purrs.

Chapter Text

act i: inertia

It’s become something of a habit, watching her sleep.

The first time had been a fluke.  He’d only intended on dropping by long enough to confirm everything, lay all those suspicions to rest before ducking out as silently as he came; instead, curiously enchanted by the way she breathed, he lingered near the headboard until her face started scrunching up in response to the sunlight casting diamonds off his skin.

A fluke, he’d told himself as he closed the drapes and window on his way out.  One-time error.

The same could not be said for the second and third.

And so night four welcomes him with open arms as he holds vigil from the corner of her room.  He’d discovered somewhere around three in the morning on night two that straying too close to the bed is Icarus soaring too close to the sun; she’s quite prone to tossing, throwing her limbs out haphazardly and catching corners.  

He’s not sure why he’s here.

He’s not even sure why he’s so worried about being caught, if he’s to be completely honest.

She might be furious.  She might not.  She’ll probably blame it on the shadows and go right back to sleep, unaware of just how right she is.  

Still, he does his best to stay unobtrusive.  It’s not like he needs to be two inches from her face to catalogue every faint stress mark lining her face, or how her lips are split from biting them too hard.  With how precise his vision is, he can see it all: the permanent exhaustion; the stress she spends all day hiding from others; the beauty.

The beauty.

She is pretty.  He hadn’t noticed at first - not with how intent he was on memorizing the ups and downs of her breaths and heartbeat as the night went on - but now that he has, it’s impossible to unsee.  How her dark hair falls across her face, a wavy strand resting on the corner of her mouth, just close enough that the end flutters with every exhale.  

(It would be so much prettier cut short.  Just below her ears.  So he can see watch thrill in the way her pulse throbs-)

She makes a low noise that freezes him in place.  Awake? She can’t be awake, it’s only four in the morning.  There’s still an hour before her alarm goes off.  She twists and kicks her sheets, and he smiles thinly as her shirt collar slips to the side, exposing the column of her throat.  

Does she know how unintentionally seductive she is when she does that? Offers up her pretty little neck for the taking?

The smell.

He inhales deeply, mouth open to taste all those delicate undertones.  The scent that had drawn him here to begin with clings to the clean piles of laundry waiting to be folded next to him.  He brushes his fingers over one of the fluffy zip-up sweaters and twists the fabric in his grasp.  Has she noticed the change yet? Picked up a sweater and wondered why it smells so unlike her detergent? The mental image of her burying her face in the same spot currently fisted in his hand and taking a big whiff sends a delightful shudder running up his spine.

Soon.

“Lapochka? Not that I am saying your call is unwelcome but is it not your day off today? Why so early, is everything alright?”

Her fingers trail over the windowsill slowly, looking for some phantom imprint that will prove she’s not as insane as she feels.  

“My window was a little open this morning.”

There’s a pause on the other end.  “Are you home alone right now?”

“Everything is exactly the way it was last night except the window.  I’ve been doing overtime the last few days so I thought it was because I was tired but I never open this window,” she explains, voice small from squeezing out around her heart lodged in her throat.

She hates how weak she sounds.  How she has to lean against the wall to support her shaky knees.  How every last inch of her carefully crafted bravado has been thrown out the window by the intruder as they left.

How long did they sit there watching her?

“Shura,” Madhuri says far-too-calmly for someone far-too-close to throwing up.  “I’d like a little company right now if that’s alright.”

A dream.

That’s the only way Bella can describe the haze of the last few days.  A dream.  One of those impossibly perfect Disney-inspired dreams that she’d never allowed herself to indulge in with other girls her age, thinking she was born too late to star in the kind of romances she spent her early childhood reading with Grandma Swan.

But here she is now.  The Lizzie Bennet to Edward’s Mr Darcy.

Finally.

Spotting a tree stump nearby, Bella sits on the edge to tighten her shoelaces once more.  The last thing she wants is to trip over them, smash her head open, and have Charlie drag her to Dr Cullen again; especially now that Edward’s her…whatever he is.  Boyfriend feels too pedestrian to explain what they have.

Her face grows hot as she remembers the searing kiss they’d shared earlier before going their separate ways.  Edward needed to hunt if he wanted to stay fully in control of himself while doing more of that with her, which is the only reason she’s collecting leaves for Mr Banner’s assignment on her own.  

He’d never leave her alone otherwise.  He promised.

She misses him, though, which is why she’s hunting for the stupid flora near their meadow.  A foolish part of her hopes he’ll find her here and they can waste another Friday afternoon in each others’ eyes before the human world lulls her away.

Bella’s careful to stay on the trail and not an inch off it.  Charlie’s warnings regarding the attacks, and Dr Cullen’s sombre expression the night they’d found Waylon’s body weigh heavily on her mind.  She knows animal attacks are code for something Other and that the Cullens are really the only good vampires out there, but she can’t logically see how others like them could do something so horrific.  Every time she tries, Edward’s angelic face becomes superimposed on the monster’s and she refuses to believe he could ever do that.

She tightens her grip on the bear spray in her pocket and shakes her head.  No.  It’s all nonsense, and the sooner she gets all the leaves, the sooner she can get out of this hellscape.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Bella gasps and narrowly avoids getting decapitated by a low-hanging branch, which she grabs to try and stabilize herself.  Once she’s certain she hasn’t crushed the can in her pocket, she lets out a slow breath and hisses, “Don’t scare me like that!”

Lauren is decidedly unimpressed - and supremely worse for wear.  They’ve not got any classes together seeing as she’s in the AP stream but Bella vaguely recalls Jess complaining about her skipping school, and wonders if she’d got lost in the woods on her way to the hospital given that she looks ready to drop dead at any moment.

“I’m finishing an assignment for biology.  What are you doing here?”

“Human sacrifice.”

Bella gapes.  “E-excuse me?”

“That was a joke.”

“Oh.”

Lauren rolls her eyes and huffs irritatedly, storming over to grab her wrist and drag her the opposite way - back to town.  Bella digs her heels into the ground and swats at her hand.

“What are you doing? Let go of me!”

“Tell me, how fucking dense are you? Your dad is the Chief of police here so don’t tell me you haven’t been getting all the gorey details regarding those animal attacks or whatever you want to call them,” Lauren snaps. 

Bella flinches, which gives the blonde the edge she needs to keep dragging her away, not pausing once to take into account all the roots and rocks and snares grabbing at her ankles.  She stumbles, trying hard to catch her breath, and chokes on the cloying, ominous energy seeping out from the shadows.

“Lauren-”

“Shut up.”

Bella shuts up.  She’s not got one confrontational bone in her body, but even if she did it would’ve been ground to dust in the face of Lauren’s roiling fury.  

They’re practically jogging now.  For once, Bella wishes she’d bothered to try and correct her pathological clumsiness instead of treating it like some kind of cute quirk.  Her ankles have twisted so much in the last five minutes she thinks they’ve snapped and she just can’t feel it because they’re that swollen and numb.

Still, she keeps running.  From whatever it is that’s got Lauren so shaken up.  From the cloud of evil lazily creeping after them - from whatever hides within it.

Do you feel it, too? Is that why we’re running? What are we running from? 

She bites her tongue harshly, swallowing back the blood and words before they can spill out.  

Charlie used to tell her the land was alive.  As a child, she’d just assumed that was his way of getting her to respect nature, but she realizes now that he wasn’t being metaphorical at all.  In the blink of an eye, the lush, otherworldly forest has become a gnarled bear-trap seeking to cage them in.  Twilight has come too early, snatching away the sunlight filtering through the tangled canopy; with it gone, the branches and bushes elongate, becoming sharper and more angled to entwine with her loose hair, snap at the edges of her sweater.

I’m going to die, she thinks hysterically, I’m going to die and I only had my first kiss three days ago.

Bella barely manages to keep from colliding with Lauren’s back when she comes to an abrupt stop.

“This is getting boring,” Lauren states coldly.  “You can come out now.”

What the hell is she talking about? Bella cranes her neck around to try and see what’s got her attention.  Lauren squeezes her hand warningly, freezing her in place.  The blonde moves stand in front of her, dropping her hand and taking what little warmth and comfort Bella had with it.  

“Aw.  Here I thought we were having fun.”

“I’d recommend looking up the word in the dictionary but I sincerely doubt you can read.”

“Oh! Look at that, James.  She’s got a little bite.”

Bella inhales sharply, drawing in icy air suffused with something like lilacs and sunshine - she relaxes automatically.  Her muscles feel deliciously loose and boneless, all the panic fading away to some distant part of her mind that no longer pounds in agony.  

It feels like burying herself in her sheets after Edward’s slipped out the window, trying to sink into the pieces he’s left behind.

And that thought is what makes her grow cold all over again.

“Lauren,” she whispers, reaching out to grasp the bottom of her utility jacket with numb fingers.  “We need to run.  Right now.  You don’t know what-”

Lauren shakes her off dismissively.  “Are you going to show yourselves or keep lurking like this is a bad slasher flick? Come on, you can’t be that ugly.  I thought leechification was supposed to make you pretty.”

“Lauren,” Bella squeaks, tugging her shoulder frantically.  “Lauren, stop, this is too - what happened to your face?”

Black lines spider-web across her face and down her neck, disappearing under her collar; they creep out from her cuffs, following the veins Bella sees mirrored on her own hands.  She reels back, terrified that they’ll spread to her.

“Bella.” She clenches her jaw so tight she can hear her teeth crack.  “Bear.”

Bear?

They emerge from the low-hanging fog in unison.  A woman with tangled, fiery hair on their right; a black man wearing a jacket the exact shade of green as Lauren’s to their left; and a shirtless blond directly in front of them.  Three pairs of red - almost black - eyes cage them in.

Bella reminds herself to breathe.  

Edward’s scent is probably still on her.  They’ll go away if they smell him.  They’ll know she’s under his protection.  

“There are an awful lot of you in this area,” the blond muses.  “First the grey-haired one in Port Angeles, now you…Laurent, you lived in France during the hunts.  Is it common for covens to be this large and spread out? I thought they liked being close.”

“They do,” Laurent affirms.  “This one is different from the one we met.”

“Grey-haired and Port Angeles…Quincy,” Lauren says with a cruel smile.  “I’ll have to call and say thank you for the trace he put on you.  Pity.  I’ve never been fond of owing favours - especially to him.”

“What trace?” the redhead demands, taking a step forward.  The blond glares at her, and she steps back obediently.  

The damage is done, though.  Lauren’s remarks snuffed out all their bravado, leaving them tense and on-edge.

“Again, if you look up the word in the dictionary, everything I’m saying should be pretty self-explanatory.”

“What is going on?” Bella bursts, frustration temporarily overriding common sense.  “You know what - you know? How long? And covens…like witch covens? Witches aren’t real.”

Lauren stares at her flatly.  “Sorry, am I not pretty or wealthy enough for you to acknowledge as real?”

“That’s not-”

“Lauren, was it? I’m James, and my friends are Victoria and Laurent,” James introduces, pressing a hand over his heart and bowing shortly.  “You don’t seem to like her very much, Lauren.  Why not leave her behind? I promise you we mean little harm.  It’s just that she’s close to somebody I’ve been looking for for a very, very long time.  I need her help to reacquaint us.”

“I am not letting you near Edward!” Bella shouts, shoving Lauren to the side so she can face the vampire head-on.  She grabs the bear spray in her pocket and holds it out like a gun.

It won’t do anything.  Maybe annoy them for a second or two, but Edward risked his secret to save her life from the truck and she will be damned if she lets this monster get to him without putting up a fight.

“Edward? Who the hell is Edward?”

“Lauren, now!”

A hand snatches the spray out of her hand and whips it across the clearing.  Bella barely has time to shriek before she’s shoved to the ground under the cover of a body too small to be this strong.

“Ignio.”

For the briefest fraction of a second, the universe goes still.  Leaves cease rustling.  Wind comes to a complete stop.  

A slight, building pressure that turns into a vacuum, sucking the air out of her.

The bear spray explodes.  

She feels it before anything else.  The blistering heat licking up her shitty shoes and searing into the exposed bits of her skin.  She thinks, at first, that the ear-splitting screams are coming from the vampires caught in the blast, but then she’s dragged to her feet and they’re running and it’s her, she realizes, who is screaming and gasping for air so she can run and scream and hope Edward hears it wherever he is.

“Shut up!” Lauren screams, a wraith-like creature struggling to keep up.  “Shut up, you stupid, stupid girl!”

The other woman - the other doctor from the ER, Carlisle’s friend - fumbles with her phone.  “C’mon, c’mon, Carlisle, pick up-”

“Call Edward.  Call Edward right - no!”

Carlisle’s friend is knocked over by a blur of red and white.  Bella rips her hand out of hers, scrambling on her hands and knees to get away.  Her eyes are burning and blurry and she’s sure she’s bleeding because her mouth tastes like fucking iron and salt and she can’t even throw up it hurts so bad.

“Get off her,” Lauren rasps.  The dark lines pulse, the air rippling unnaturally, distorting her already broken features.  The whites of her eyes bleed black, irises flickering yellow.  “Get off Dr Sehgal right now.  I will kill you.”

Dr Sehgal grabs a fistful of Victoria’s still-smoking, blackened hair and pulls, grinning in spite of the hands wound tight around her neck.  

“Haircuts…are permanent…for you…right? Sucks.  You look…fucking ugly…bhenchod.”

Victoria snarls wordlessly.

James staggers out, one of his legs so badly burned it drags behind him.  Bella shivers, making herself as small as possible to avoid being seen.

“I was trying to be nice,” he spits, “I was trying to be a gentleman about this.  Now I’m not so inclined.” He stares at Dr Sehgal, hesitation flickering across his face so fast she swears she imagined it.

“I want her,” Victoria seethes, lowering her face until her nose touches Dr Sehgal’s.

“Patience, Victoria.”

Victoria cradles her head gently, drawing back a hand slick with blood.  Bella keens low, watching her lick her fingers clean.

“O-negative.  What a treat.”

Lauren extends an arm, using her other to support it at the elbow, and splays her trembling fingers.  “Ig-ignio.”

Nothing happens.

James cackles.  “Oh! Oh, did you use up all that spark, beautiful? Where’d all that magic go?”

Bella’s never given much thought to how she would die.  But dying for someone she loves seems like a good way to go.  Her pain will only last for a fraction of the time she knows Edward will be suffering for.  As she slumps over in defeat, waiting for the carnage to ensue, she prays at least one of them makes it to tell Edward she tried her best for him.

Even if James were to shred her to pieces, it would be far kinder than the way she remembered Alzheimer’s taking her grandmother bit by bit.  She only wishes he’ll make it quick.

James’ laughter is cut short as Victoria’s head goes flying off past his.

Bella blinks.

Her decapitated corpse flops over Dr Sehgal’s, limbs seizing wildly and punching miniature craters into the ground.  Dr Sehgal wheezes as one hand catches her ribs, and then the rest of Victoria is snapped apart, arms and legs flung off into the distance.  Her torso rolls to the side, flopping like a fish.

She can’t help it - she throws up until she swears she tastes stomach acid, gagging and choking as it burns the raw edges of her throat.

“Right here, actually.”

A tall man has Lauren in his arms, his gentle hold starkly contrasted with the unforgiving set to his face.  Lauren sighs, eyes fluttering shut.  “...you.”

His gaze softens a little.  “Hi, Ren.  Sorry I’m late.”

Dr Sehgal props herself up slowly, whole body shaking.  It takes Bella a second to realize she’s not crying, but laughing .  She throws her head back, groans, and then smiles at him faintly.

“I should’ve figured.  You weren’t kidding about the coffee and magic, huh?”

“I never joke about coffee, Mads.  Are you alright, though, love? Sorry again.  I can’t run for shit and this was a hike and a half.”

“Who are you?” James growls, crouching down in anticipation.  “Who are you with?”

The man tilts his head, green eyes raking him up and down clinically.  

“Jude Donnell.  You’ll have to forgive my baby cousin for not giving you the show you wanted.  Shall I make up for it?”

Bella stifles a gasp - are his pupils slits?

“Insecare.”

Lauren Mallory

Chapter Text

act i: inertia

“Well, that looks to be everything – oh, oops.  Missed one,” Jude murmurs, spotting the tracker’s severed forearm cradled in the thick branches of a nearby evergreen.  With a curl of his fingers, it floats down to join the twitching pile of limbs in the middle of the clearing. 

They’ve already started trying to reassemble, though given the female’s decapitated head is currently gnawing through where her right arm and the tracker’s right calf have incorrectly formed a joint, he predicts this will take a while.

It would be much easier to just kill them all right now.  His blood thrums at the thought, rushing just a little faster in preparation for casting ignio.  Unlike Lauren’s, his won’t require the explosive backing of bear spray to achieve similar results.  No, it’ll only take about a drop of his magic to deal with bottom-feeding scum like this.

He clicks his tongue in annoyance.  If only it weren’t for that stupid trace.

Shaking his head, Jude turns to the others and surveys them quickly to figure out his next move.  Aside from a couple bruises, Bella Swan is in one piece - no thanks to Madhuri taking most of the damage on her behalf.  The cream-coloured scarf he’d tossed her way a few minutes ago is already tinged dark red, and he has to remind himself that head wounds tend to bleed more profusely than other parts of the body so he doesn’t start a territory conflict.

Well, a conflict worse than the one he’s planning, anyway.  

As if having read his mind, Lauren slaps the back of his calf in warning.

“If you could not do something stupid for once, that’d be fan-fucking-tastic.”

“When have I ever done anything stupid?”

“Do you want that alphabetically or chronologically.”

“My mind works in mysterious ways,” he teases, crouching down to examine the markings on her skin, just as dizzy now as when he first spotted them – with relief instead of outright fear this time.

The black lines following her circulatory system have thankfully faded to a dark grey by now, a sign that the ancient magic she’d accidentally tapped into has started receding.  Jude’s only ever invoked ancestral magic like this once in his life; he braces himself against the tree she leans on, feeling a little more than ill at the implications of her having done it.

He reaches out with his free hand, sending a small stream of his magic through the core located in her heart, and feels his eyebrows shoot up when he registers how dense it is.  Although he’d heard through The Grapevine (their cousin Lucy) that Lauren had taken a sudden, almost manic interest in training, he also knew that Lauren’s bitch of a mother refused to let her do anything more than levitate a remote growing up.  Uncle Shay had been diligent in reporting all the ways Lauren was sneaking out to train on her own, but he’s still pleasantly surprised with how far she’s come in just a few months.

Jude breaks contact to ruffle her hair playfully.  “While it’s no laughing matter, it gives me an inordinate amount of joy to say you only have magic depletion.”

“Joy,” she says dryly.

“Good job, Ren,” he praises, “Really.  You did great.”

She fixates on Madhuri, clearing her throat loudly.  “Yeah, well, we should get Dr Sehgal to the hospital.  You’re the doctor, I shouldn’t be the one telling you about skull fractures.”

“You just flambéed a vampire in front of me.  I think you’ve earned the right to use my first name,” Madhuri replies, turning her head in their direction, eyes still closed.  Her pale, sickly pallor can’t be blamed on the dim lighting, and his chest tightens with worry when he notices how fast and shallow her breathing is.

“Right.  Hospital.  Let’s pray that leech isn’t on call-”

Bella lunges for his legs as he straightens up.  He flails for a second, trying not to fall on top of Lauren.  

“Hey! What the hell-”

“No,” Bella rasps, staring up at him with bloodshot eyes wilder than her hair.  “No.  The hospital won’t - and Charlie.  We have to go straight to Edward and his family.”

“Knock her out before I do,” Lauren threatens.

“She’s got a point.  Hospital’s a bad idea.  There’s no way to blame all this-” Madhuri waves at herself and the others, “On an animal attack.  Law enforcement already thinks there’s a serial killer, no need to give them more ammo.”

His lips part.  Jude hesitates, wondering if right now is the best time to fully drag her into the fold.  Madhuri already knows about vampires and the existence of witches, no thanks to Lucy all those months ago, and - spirits and stars continue to have mercy on her - thus far, she’s taken everything in stride.  But what about the Covens, whose presence and politics influence most of the town? The Quileute wolves, and how the local vampires have forced their reemergence in droves? The complicated relationship between the supernatural and humans of Forks? It’ll take explaining all that to convince her that going to the hospital is fine because there’s an understanding that he can put into effect.  There’s no time.

Shit, and then he has to go through it all over again with Kaz.  His head already hurts thinking about it. 

No.  This is a for later issue when he can sit them both down at the same time.  If the cat’s out of the bag then there’s no point in continuing to keep his gloves on; starting with a formal audience with the Western Privy Council to transfer Lauren’s guardianship to him.

He sighs deeply and plasters on a tight, overly bright smile.  “Alright then.  Which way?”

Emmett Cullen’s expression when the four of them appear out of thin air in the living room is something Jude will pay to have extracted from memory and turned into a photograph.  

He drops the remote, gaping for all of half a second, and says, “Well, shit.”

“Hey, Emmett.” Madhuri waves weakly from where she’s draped over his back.  “Carlisle home?”

“Just me.  Everybody’s still hunting - also, she’s not dead, right?” He points to Lauren in his arms. 

She flips him the bird.

“Nice.  At least you’ll have an excuse for an extension on Cheney’s lab report.”

“Annalise Cheney’s your chemistry teacher?” Jude exclaims, unable to visualise the notoriously short-tempered witch he’d grown up with teaching kids anything other than how to get felonies named after them.  “Spirits.  Remind me to pay her a visit soon.  Ah, right, Emmett, don’t suppose you have a first aid kit on hand somewhere? Also, could you…” He looks at Bella pointedly.  

Emmett takes the hint and gets up with a huff, patting his hips sharply.  “Right-o.  I can do you one better, just give me a sec.”

Bella doesn’t fuss as Emmett scoops her up and leads them up the stairs.  Jude snickers when they pass a massive collection of grad caps pinned to the wall behind a glass case.  Their batshit insanity is starting to make more sense; high school was awful enough the first time around.  Having to do it again and again with the mental acuity of a full-grown adult is his version of hell.  

Emmett stops at the end of the hall and opens the door on the left, gesturing for them to enter.  Jude screeches to a halt before he’s got a foot in, stunned to silence.  

“Is…is that an x-ray,” he manages to choke out.

“Edward wanted an MRI but Carlisle put his foot down.” Emmett shrugs, scratching the back of his neck.  “Something about needing special shielding?”

“And the million-ish dollar price tag.”

“Alice routinely drops that much on fresh-off-the-runway shit.  This would be money well spent.”

Catch him dead saying it out loud, but maybe Marx was onto something about the bourgeoisie.  

As much as he hates the thought of leaving his cousin with a vampire, there’s only one lead jacket available so he reluctantly places her on the floor outside the room with the promise to return as soon as possible before he ushers Emmett and Bella out and shuts the door.  

Carefully, he lowers Madhuri onto the table and helps her sit up.  Once he’s reasonably sure she won’t fall over, he removes her earrings and slips them into the pocket of her ruined black puffer jacket, which he tosses onto the cot nearby while she slowly removes her thermal turtleneck.  He stands between her knees and pulls her forward until her head rests on his chest, hissing at the sight of her back.  While the jacket took the brunt of it, bits of the metal canister managed to embed themselves in her flesh anyway.  

“Good news or bad news?”

“How long have I got, doc?”

“You’ve got some shrapnel and what looks to be a first-degree burn in a few places.”

“That’s the good news?”

“No, dummy.  Good news is that now that you know, I can yank all the metal out in one go and save you the agony of tweezers.  As much as I’d rather a CT, I’ll x-ray your skull and ribs - very sexy bruises, by the way - and then get to it.”

Madhuri shoots him a thumbs-up.  He lays her out, straps on the lead jacket, and stares at the x-ray blankly.  She’s probably used the x-ray more this past month than he has since his internal medicine rotation, but it’s not like he can ask her to coach him through it.  

“Is it on?” Madhuri inquires, having picked up on his awkward hovering.

“I…think?”

If - and when - Kaz asks later, Jude will declare this as his genius way of ensuring her memory was intact or something to that effect.  

Following her instructions, he quickly grabs scans of her head and ribs and, while waiting for them to show up on the monitors mounted to the wall, pops out to drag Lauren back in.  

“He went to get her some food and new clothes,” she tells him, slumping against the wall and batting away his attempts to get her on the cot.  

“You need food, too, Ren.”

“I refuse to eat anything prepared in this hellscape.”

“Esme’s a pretty good cook,” Madhuri muses, “Kinda bland, but not the worst.  Kaz didn’t mind either.”

Her words douse him with buckets of ice-cold water.

Kaz.

Shit.  

He grabs his phone out of his back pocket, shocked that it’s still in one piece, and half-laughs, half-sobs at all the missed calls clogging up the tiny screen.  The latest is timestamped to a half-hour ago which means Kaz is probably conducting a one-man canvass armed with nothing but a gun and butter-knife.  Jude debates also making this a later-problem, but the thought of him running into the Frankenstein’d leeches crawling through the woods decides it for him quick enough.

“Where the hell are you?”

“Hi, darling.  Hear me out before you go nuclear: so, a whole lot just happened and to make a very long story short - oh, that was quick.  Do x-rays normally develop that fast?” Jude asks Madhuri, who makes a ‘so-so’ motion with her hand.  

“X-rays? Who had an x-ray? I just called the hospital to see if you were there and Erika said no.”

“This is part of the long story made short.  There was a bit of a situation and Mads…well, the skull looks just fine to me but those ribs are another story.  Six through eight on the left are cracked.”

“What.”

Jude winces, realizing how that must’ve come off, and hastily amends, “She’s fine! We had a run in with some non-Cullen vampires and I took care of them.  My cousin and I did, actually, and-”

Madhuri holds her hand out for him to pass her the phone.  He does, all while wishing time magic weren’t so unnecessarily complicated and illegal so he could turn it back to figure out how not to sound so unhinged.

“We’re at Carlisle’s, get over here.  I’m way too concussed to be putting him through the witch trials on my own.”

Kaz isn’t sure what he expected to find upon bursting through the doors of the Cullen household, but almost all of them floating midair definitely wasn’t on the list.  Emmett shoots him a two-fingered salute, holding Bella Swan in place by the back of her shirt, and shrugs as if to say ‘what can you do’.

“Kaz!” Jude crows, smiling sunnily from where he leans against the newel post on the stairs.  “Just in time.  Give me a second - so, back to what I was saying.  Do you promise to play nice if I let you down? My precious cousin is magically depleted and Mads has a nasty concussion, so the last thing they need is any sort of disturbance.  I’ll put you right back up in the naughty corner if you don’t behave.”

“Yes,” Carlisle agrees quickly.  

Jude snaps his fingers, and the vampires hit the floor with a thunderous crash.  Edward zips over to where Bella is, snarling wordlessly as he snatches her from Emmett to draw into his arms.  She sobs into his chest, and he croons something low and sweet, stroking her hair gently.  

“Jasper, Alice, and Emmett, please go search the area Jude indicated and see if they are still there,” Carlisle instructs dazedly, “Esme, if you and Rosalie could tend to Bella while I…”

“Ren won’t let you within ten feet of her but I’m sure Mads is dying to fill you in on all the gorey details.  They’re both in your makeshift hospital wing,” Jude says, tilting his head up to the left.  Carlisle nods in thanks and flickers away.

Slowly, Kaz makes his way across the room and trudges up the stairs.  Although he can tell Jude is being careful to maintain a respectful distance between them, his presence is a burning inferno that has him picking up the pace to avoid being swallowed whole.  It’s the sort of sensation he’s always linked to his father or grandfather - to have it suddenly be associated with Jude (petrichor and the quiet, early morning trickle of the Yenisey, things that remind him of peace) makes him uncomfortable in a way he can’t properly articulate.

Jude clears his throat and waits for him to double back, waving him into what appears to be a miniature replica of the Library of Alexandria, complete with towering Egyptian columns running parallel down the length of the room to create an aisle that stops short of a massive table, likely taken straight out of Winchester Castle.  Kaz leans his weight against the aged wood and, satisfied that it won’t collapse, perches himself on the edge.

“So.  You’re a wizard.”

“Witch,” Jude corrects, “I blame Harry Potter for the whole ‘witches are girls and wizards are boys’ thing, but they’re not gendered terms.  There are a few differences: whereas wizards are sort of…randomly born with magic and require grimoires to do anything, witches are descended matrilineally and belong to covens.”

“So you can’t pass your magic on if you were to have a child.”

“Not unless I had a kid with another witch, no.  My cousin Lucy-”

“Bakery Lucy? She’s your cousin?”

“Why do you think she always gives you the family discount? Yeah, so, Lucy married Roark Ditka of the Methuselah Coven-”

Kaz throws a hand up, pinching the bridge of his nose with the other.  “Roark Ditka as in the founder of Scales Security? That Roark? He’s a witch?”

“The most mediocre witch I know.  Mind you, she could do so much better, but…” Jude rolls his eyes, “‘True love’.  Anyway, they just had a baby, Lloyd, and he’s showing some sparks already.  Our other cousin Rian married a normal human so their twins, Rowan and Keenan, have no magic.  There are some very rare cases where a non-witch born into a coven spontaneously develops magic but then they’d be wizards and have to tote around grimoires – like Lauren’s dad.”

“Huh,” he responds for lack of anything else.

He’s not… surprised, is the thing.  While this new information recontextualizes Jude’s bizarre leap of logic insisting Cullen was a vampire all those months ago, somewhere between then and now, Kaz has come to accept that if vampires exist, the door is very much open for other supernatural entities.  It’s not something he actively dwells on in order to keep his sanity in check, but he’d be lying if he said he’s not lost sleep a few times thinking about it.

“I can’t tell what you’re thinking right now,” Jude blurts out, twirling the blond curls by his temple around his index finger so tight it goes purple.  “I know lies of omission are still lies but I swear I never intended to betray you or Mads.”

“This isn’t betrayal,” Kaz asserts, “Just give me a moment.”

Betrayal isn’t quite right.  Neither is upset or hurt or offended.  The cold calm creeping up his arms and legs locking him in place is a bit more akin to the feeling he remembers from his youth.  Training days where he and Shura would be left in the woods and told to escape unnoticed; finding shelter to weather the blizzard come nightfall, only to realize they’d walked right into the wolves’ den.  

Kaz thought that, in surrendering the reins to Shura and abandoning the corrupt legacy he was set to inherit, he’d left behind anything marking him as other.  Jude - and later, Madhuri - were his constants.  The closest thing he had for a baseline for normalcy, who he could fall back on when things started spiralling into that wheelhouse of other.  That Jude - Jude - was able to keep this a secret for two whole years…Kaz feels his back prickle with cold sweat.

Perhaps this is what his father meant by befriending fear.  Why his mother’s parting words were ‘what you are doing is futile’.  

He’ll never be able to escape being other.  One way or another, he’ll be roped right back into it whether it be in the form of the cold, unforgiving duties as the Voronin’s selected, or the partner of a witch.

Really, why fear it?

“Lost.  I’m, frankly, a little lost, but that is something for me to contend with.  You have a lot to explain,” Kaz warns, “As do I, but this is a discussion we will save for when Madhuri is here.  For now, I’d like to hear about that.”

Jude perks up and begins filling him in, swinging his arms around animatedly to mime explosions and the way he dismembered the vampires and flung them about.  Kaz decides he’s heard enough when he vividly describes how their severed limbs incorrectly glued themselves together.  If he wasn’t grateful Dyadya Mikhail was dead before, he certainly is now.  Just the thought of the two of them meeting gives him an ulcer.

“Her injuries? You mentioned broken ribs?”

“Right.  We did x-rays on account of there being no CT upstairs-”

“He has an x-ray?”

“Apparently the only thing stopping them from springing for a full MRI was not having space for a radio frequency room.” Kaz feels his face contort in equal parts disgust and awe, causing Jude to throw his hands up and exclaim, “That’s what I said! So, right, we did the x-rays and it looked clear skull-wise but I also haven’t had to look at anything other than a chest x-ray since my IM rotation, so who knows.  I managed to fix her up just fine but it’s good that Carlisle’s giving her a once over right now.  I wish Erika were here, though, she’s always been insane with healing magic.”

Kaz stares at him helplessly.  “Is Madhuri - are we the only normal humans in the hospital?”

“First of all, Erika is from Acamar - honestly, this will all make sense when I write up a chart for you two later.  Aside from me and her…Snow’s from Acamar as well - very distantly - but witch dad and human mom, so he’s normal.”

“Anything else I should be aware of?”

“...werewolves?”

He mulls that over for about three seconds before adding it to his growing collection of existential crises to deal with later, and makes a ‘come here’ motion with his hands.  Jude bounces over, throwing his arms around his neck and sagging with palpable relief.  Kaz flinches, unused to such overt affection outside of either of their homes, but reciprocates gingerly.

“This will take getting used to,” he confesses.

“I know.  You’re taking it much better than I thought you would.  I was half expecting you to go all silent and require a week to figure out your next move.”

“Yes, well, you refuse to leave me be so I’ve not been able to do that for some time.”

“Victory,” Jude sings, kissing just under the corner of his jaw.  Kaz squeezes his hip to remind him where they are.  He watches warily as Jude draws elaborate shapes in the air, muttering “Silens,” and “Excludo,” between increasingly heated kisses.

“There,” he breathes, and Kaz shivers as he rakes his nails down the back of his head.  “Spirits, this is going to be so much fun now that I can do this.”

"That was pretty neat magic you did back there, the fire thing."

"It was a parlour trick compared to what I should've been able to do," Lauren grumbles.  "If my darling cousin hadn't come when he did, we would've been glorified Gushers."

"Considering my brilliant idea involved screaming like a banshee before you mentioned the bear spray…" Madhuri trails off, smiling wryly as Lauren tries to smother a laugh.  "No, no, laugh it up.  That was definitely in the top five for dumbest ideas I've ever had.  You saved the day there, keep your chin up."

"Thanks.  And, uh, you too." Her eyebrows shoot up in confusion, and Lauren elaborates, "I know you're feeling a bit out of place.  Dr Voronin is…whatever he is, Jude's a witch, Dr Cullen's a vampire, and you're the normal one.  I know what that feels like, so I'm just saying.  Keep your chin up."

After laying it out like that, the first thing that pops into her head is that the Gods have the sickest sense of humour for toying with her darkest thoughts this way.  What had she said to Ronit back then? ‘I'd rather walk into a den of monsters than suffer through another second of breathing the same air as you’?

If only he could see her now.  

“How did you find us, by the way?”

“I was out for a walk.  Got lucky, I guess.”

Convincing Shura not to fly in from the Siberian permafrost involved employing every technique in the book, but she’d eventually bought his peace with the promise to tell Kaz everything  after they hung up - of course, he hadn’t specified how soon after so Madhuri decided that taking a long, long walk was in her best interest because otherwise she’d find herself hyperventilating in a corner.

(Definitely not because she wanted to put off activating Kaz’s kill-switch for as long as physically possible.)

As stupid as it sounds, she’d felt drawn to the forest.  The warning bells had been going off the second she reached the perimeter and only grew louder and louder the deeper she ventured, but her legs refused to let her move in any other direction.  Looking back, Madhuri is morbidly fascinated by her calm acceptance of death - her eagerness, even, to get it over with on her own terms after having heard from Carlisle what to expect at the hands of the Volturi.

Another secret to take to the grave with me.

Carlisle probably has his suspicions, though.  His expression the few times she’d managed to crack her eyes open was tight with worry and something close to cool resolve.  As furious as she is at her own powerlessness, she’s more incensed at the notion that he’s somehow found a way to blame himself for this, too.  

The door bursts open.  Madhuri moans, flinging an arm over her already closed eyes.  “I am brain damaged, have some decency.”

“Moreso than usual, you mean,” comes Kaz’s low voice.  

“I can’t even take offence to that.”

“Hey, I need to get Ren some food-”

“I fucking refuse -”

“This is my way of saying you’re my excuse to go spy on them downstairs, sweetheart.  Don’t worry about staying quiet or anything, I’ve cast privacy spells.  We’ll be back in a bit!”

Madhuri hears the door click shut.  Kaz taps her shoulder and hip gently, and she rolls over to her front so he can examine her back for himself.  She bites back a yelp when he prods her broken ribs.

“In case you’ve forgotten, I am running on negative endorphins at the moment!”

“I thought you had second-degrees? These barely qualify as first.”

“Jude’s apparently decent enough at healing magic to do this much.  He didn’t want to risk skin abscesses by healing over the shrapnel holes so we’re doing this the way the gods intended.”

“Which would be?”

“With enough antibiotics to kill even them.”

Kaz snorts and helps her roll onto her good side.  In spite of her throbbing headache and crippling nausea, she forces herself to open her eyes and shoot him a sardonic smile that goes unreturned.

“Nice hickey.”

His eyes narrow.  “I don’t have one.”

“Ah ha.  You didn’t say you didn’t do anything that would lead to a hickey,” she declares.  Unimpressed, he continues to stare her down; when it’s clear she won’t crack first, he does.

“Shura called.”

“Oh.”

“Yes.”

“In my defence.” He raises a brow, to which she counters, “I’m concussed, ask me later.”

“I won’t.  Nothing you say will sufficiently justify what is arguably the most categorically stupid move you’ve made in what I’m starting to recognize as a pattern of escalation.”

“...my head is way more fucked than I thought because none of those words made sense,” she mutters.

Kaz exhales softly, crossing his arms on the cot to rest his forehead.  Madhuri reaches out, hand hovering so close to his head that his hairs tickle her palm, wondering if she’s playing this off too lightly.  

“One partner is a witch and the other has worse self-preservation instincts than a killdeer,” Kaz remarks, “I have my work cut out for me.”

Partner.

Whatever quip she had ready dies on her tongue as the weight of that word sinks in.  Her cheeks burn hotter than the bear-can explosion tearing up her back..

Partner.

She’s not sure Jude and Kaz have ever given themselves a proper label outside of making it quietly known to her that something does, in fact, exist between them.  Jude doles out his affection so freely it’s hard to tell when he’s flirting or not, and Kaz…Kaz leaves her confused in a different way.  For Madhuri, who’d never intended on staying longer than the course of her fellowship, finding her place in their dynamic isn’t something she’d ever allowed herself to consider. 

Evidently, they think otherwise.  Have been thinking otherwise and she’s just been too willfully ignorant to notice.

“We really need to sit down and sort all this out,” she says, finally giving in and resting her hand on his head.  He hums.  “Bakery Lucy is a witch.”

“I know that.”

“Erika is, too.”

“Shut the entire fuck up.”

“Snow is related to witches.”

“Oh my god.  How are you and I the only normal people at work.”

Madhuri’s just reached the point where fighting off the exhaustion becomes a losing battle when several loud shouts from downstairs yanks her right back.  Kaz is already on his feet, one hand on the gun clipped to his shoulder holster (when the hell did he get one of those?).  She slips off the cot and grabs a scalpel after a moment’s deliberation, fully aware that it won’t do anything against a vampire but feeling significantly better armed regardless.

“It’s fine!” Jude yells, “Just one of the leeches from the field.  Come down!”

Kaz looks as done as she feels.  

Mindful of her injuries, they adopt a leisurely pace to join the others.  The Cullens have fallen into weirdly divided ranks, spread out across the living room in groups of two or three, donning expressions ranging from panic all the way to boredom.  Edward crouches before Bella, teeth bared at the intruder, and it takes everything in her not to burst into laughter at how ridiculous it looks.  Carlisle pauses in the middle of his speech and waits for them to settle by Jude and Lauren before continuing where he left off.

“You were saying, Laurent?”

“James is…extremely contrarian.  He truly had no interest in Forks outside of his original trail, but now that there are witches involved, he’s only going to grow more rash in order to ‘win’,” Laurent explains, shaking his head ruefully.  Parts of his face are still cracked from being smashed into the ground by Jude earlier, and they twist grotesquely when he speaks.

“Why was James after Bella?” Edward interrupts, “And you.  You had the chance to kill him and you let him and his mate go?”

“James wasn’t after Bella,” Laurent replies at the same time Jude scoffs, “Get over yourself.”

“Laurent first,” Carlisle says tiredly.

“Bella merely fits his…profile as it were.  Small, brunette woman.  Any would do.  He spent a great deal of time following your scents across town to try and narrow it down.” 

It’s like an anvil’s slammed into her gut.  Carlisle’s clothes had been washed with hers just a few days ago.  She’d thought it was hilarious how fresh her clothes smelled after.  Now all she wants to do is go home and burn them.

Kaz eyes her worriedly, helping her onto a bar stool when her legs feel like giving out.  She pats her ribs, grateful for the cover they provide.

“He came to Forks for her.” Laurent points to Alice.  “Everybody else was a bonus.”

“Oh,” Alice breathes, pressing her hands to her mouth.  “Oh, it’s him.  The one who killed my creator.”

Clearly, she’s died and woken up as a supporting character in a daytime soap opera.  Hopefully one with only a single season as opposed to the six million episodes of Kyunki Saas Bhi Kabhi Bahu Thi.

“Why now? After all these years?” Jasper demands, curling around Alice protectively. 

Rosalie wrinkles her nose and mouths, really?

“James feels the hunt is made sweeter the longer it’s drawn out.  I won’t pretend to understand the way his mind works.  I just know that he wishes to see this one ruined, and if not for the witch, I’d say you two are next.”

Had it not been for Kaz stiffening, Madhuri would have blamed the lights for playing tricks on her sensitive mind because she swears - blink and you miss it - Jude’s sclerae bleed black.  He whistles low, crossing one ankle over the other and sticking his thumbs in his pockets, languid and lazy in a manner so unlike him she’s convinced this is all a fever dream.

“While I’m not particularly inclined to letting a bunch of vampires in on the specifics, I’ll put it to you this way: witches have covens, covens have territories, and there are rules for operating outside of one's territory,” Jude explains, ticking down his fingers one by one.  “We have a policy of not engaging in what can be deemed as an ‘act of war’ against supernatural creatures.  On top of that, somebody already put a trace on you three.  It’s considered bad form to interfere in another witch’s hunt.”

“So we’re just supposed to sit here and wait, then?” Bella whispers, clutching Edward’s shirt like a lifeline.  “Wait for them to come back for us and…”

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” Edward promises, cradling her face in his hands.  His lips thin as he looks to Carlisle, daring him to argue.  “We will deal with the consequences, but we have to hunt him before he hunts us.”

“Edward, no, you heard what he said! We can’t go to war over-”

“He said we couldn’t get involved,” Lauren enunciates each word slowly, “You are free to hunt him down or turn him into your personal scarecrow or whatever else it is you want.  Just don’t expect us to help you at all.”

“I assure you, Lauren Mallory, we are quite capable of handling something like this on our own.”

“You have fun with that.”

“Rose, Esme, take Bella upstairs and swap clothes.  We’re going to disguise her scent-”

“You’re going about this the wrong way,” Kaz pipes up, meeting Edward’s baleful gaze unflinchingly.  “His primary goal is hunting Alice, not Miss Swan.  If he’s as contrarian as Laurent says then going out of your way to disguise her is going to make him switch targets.”

“He’s got a point,” Jasper agrees reluctantly, “The best course of action now is to lay low.  We need to be reactive, not proactive.  Especially if the good doctor here is right and there’s a witch who’s already laid claim on him.”

Edward wheels on Jude, accusing, “You said your kind have policies against waging acts of war.  How is this witch able to hunt James, then?” 

Lauren snickers.  “Let’s just say hunting means something very different for us.  Listen to your brother, Edward.”

Carlisle clears his throat.  The past few hours have taken such a toll on him he looks closer to his actual age than should be possible.  Madhuri catches his attention with a short wave, offering him a supportive thumbs up.  He cracks a tiny, barely there smile.

She’ll take it.

“To say that today has been eventful is…underplaying it.  Emotions are running very high right now, several of us are injured, and so I think it’s in everybody’s best interest to take a few days’ convalescence before reconvening to discuss our next steps.”

“I can’t go home,” Bella mumbles, “Not if…if he sees Charlie…”

Lauren rolls her eyes.  “Just tell him you’re spending the weekend with Rosalie or Alice or something.”

Bella stares at her blankly.  Madhuri rephrases, “Sleepover.  She means tell him you’re having a sleepover.”

Lauren elbows Jude roughly, raising her eyebrows pointedly.  He pouts, making a show of rubbing his side, and drawls, “Seeing as we’re in our territory and Bella is a human, there is a loophole I’m willing to exploit just this once - provided she stays here, I can…let’s say erase Chez Cullen off the map temporarily.”

“Please,” Carlisle says quickly, clapping a hand on Jude’s shoulder before he can think better of it.  “We would be immensely grateful for however long you can give us…”

“Until Monday, and all for the low, low price of - ow, Ren! Did puberty replace all your pointy joints with knives?”

“Don’t be a bitch.”

“Fine, fine.  Because Ren asked so nicely, I’ll do it for free.” 

Jude’s mischief morphs into cool scrutiny as he turns his attention to Laurent, edging towards the door.  He jumps out of his skin when his shoulder bumps against Rosalie.

“James is very familiar with my scent.  I intend on going north in order to distract him,” Laurent reasons, hands held up placatingly.  “You’re free to cast one of those ‘traces’ if it brings you any measure of comfort in being able to keep an eye on me,”

“You already have one.  I can’t just remove it and apply my own-” Jude’s mouth snaps shut when Lauren unclasps a thin, beaded bracelet on her wrist and tosses it to Laurent.  She makes a show of tossing her hair like she’s annoyed with the whole situation, but Madhuri doesn’t miss how badly her hands shake before they’re tucked into her elbows.

“Loophole,” she declares, “Just don’t lose it.”

Laurent regards her, oddly rueful and reverent all at once.  “They caught very few genuine witches during the hunts of my time.  You remind me a great deal of one of them – Ysabeau.  She burned herself alive along with dozens of hunters in order to give her pupils a chance to escape.”

While morbid and borderline threatening on any other occasion, his words have the opposite effect on Lauren.  Closing her eyes, she nods and allows herself to relax against Jude, seemingly at peace by whatever meaning she’d found in the comparison.

Laurent bids them all adieu, devoting an extra few seconds to the witch cousins, and disappears with a soft whoosh.  While all the vampires she’s met smell like florals and all things sickeningly sweet, the unique combination left in his place is overpoweringly that of peonies.  Madhuri can hardly remember what her room smelled like - what James smelled like.  Thistles? Woodsy.  Earthy.  Perfectly blended in with the air wafting through her open window.  Perfectly innocuous.

The perfect hunter.

She watches Jude out of the corner of her eye, unable to find a single hint of the calculating, minacious man from earlier in the one presently badgering Lauren.  Everything from the way he smiles so broadly that his bright, gleaming eyes nearly vanish between his cheeks and messy hair, to the exaggerated, carefree manner in which he flits about, joking with the very vampires he’d dangled in the air scarcely an hour ago, is so different.  Innocuous.

Perfectly blended in.

Chapter Text

act i: inertia

“I don’t suppose you can tell me what’s going on?”

Rosalie freezes in the motion of curling Bella’s hair.  The smell of smoking hairspray snaps her out of it, and she releases the strand before it burns, robotically moving to the next section.  Alice’s reflection glares at her, mouthing the warning she’d given earlier that morning.

Don’t ruin the surprise.

She purses her lips, recalling exactly how much she’d hated ‘surprises’ like this as a human.  Zero time to mentally prepare for the onslaught of people, or even swap one social mask for another.  Of course, a true lady was meant to always be prepared for the unexpected, but it’s not exactly unexpected if only one person is kept out of the loop – and that too on purpose.

Rosalie meets Alice’s furious expression with utter calm.  “Edward is taking you to prom.  We’re getting you ready for it.”

“What?!” Bella screeches, so explosively tachycardic that Rosalie swears for the first time in nearly seventy years, she can feel a heartbeat in her ears.

“Rosalie!” Alice whines, “I told you–”

“Alice! You knew? Why didn’t you tell me? You know I hate things like this!”

Alice pouts, lowering her lashes to mimic the teary effect they’re not capable of producing naturally.  “We just wanted to have some fun – proper, human fun – with you.  Especially Edward.  He feels so guilty about how much stress you’ve been under because of James and this felt like the perfect occasion to just be teens for once.”

Bella falters.  Alice picks up on the cracks in her defence and throws in the entire hammer for good measure, fiddling with the tube of mascara in her hands as she murmurs, “We even went and brought all this makeup for you because our venom dissolves it after a few hours, so we can never do girly things like this…”

“If you want to go, then go.  If you don’t, then there’s no need to force yourself,” Rosalie tells Bella firmly, finishing up the last strand and turning off the iron.  She runs her fingers through all the tight curls to loosen them up, subtly shifting to block Alice from Bella’s field of vision.

“I know, but…” She bites her lip, staring at her lap worriedly.  “You all put in so much effort for this, and if this will make Edward feel less guilty, then I can do this.”

“It’s not your job to assuage his guilt, especially if it comes at the cost of guilt tripping you,” Rosalie says, “Edward is responsible for his own emotions and how he handles them, the same way any grown person is.”

“I’m his girlfriend.  I should be able to help him.”

“Help.  Not shoulder all the burden,” Rosalie stresses.

Her remarks are futile, because she knows Bella will crumble under Alice’s well-timed waterworks the same way she did under her mother’s, but Rosalie feels like she owes it to both of them to acknowledge that the option to just say no exists.  

Rosalie sighs softly, watching Bella settle into numb acceptance, and gathers her hair up in a bundle.  “Would you like me to show you some updo’s from the 30’s?”

Lauren curses as her hands spasm mid-twist.  She balls them into a tight fist and relaxes them, flexing her fingers until there’s only a slight tremble.  

Fuck prom and fuck these stupid waterfall braids that Angela swore would make her look like a warrior goddess.  Doc Brown’s homeless twin sister is a far more apt description for whatever the hell is going on here.

“Hey!” she yells, “Jude! Get over here and cast some sort of spell on my fucking hair! Fuck, just burn my goddamn ticket while we’re at it!”

Seized by the sudden urge to cry – and unable to thanks to the garbage drugstore makeup she’s working with – Lauren squeezes her eyes shut and tips her head back, taking slow, deep breaths to regain any semblance of control.

Even though a month and half has passed since their run in with the serial killer leeches, Jude still refuses to let her practise magic without his direct supervision.  As incensed as she’d been at first, going from one birdcage to another with prettier gilding, at least her cousin had the decency to be upfront with her about why.  Something about needing time to recuperate from invoking ancient magic – he’d promised to go into more detail after securing a tribunal date.  Meanwhile, she’s to focus on ‘feeling emotions’ because ‘emotions drive magic’ and all sorts of other hippie-bullshit that has her tearing up at the drop of a hat.

Frankly, if this is what it takes to be a good witch then she is out.

Lauren jumps when she feels somebody start to undo her braids.  

“Honestly, this is so dumb.  Let me just stay in, I can go next year.” She opens her eyes and blinks a few times to adjust to the light and angle.  Then, she frowns.  “Oh.  You.”

The corner of Kaz’s lips quirks up.  “Me.”

“Where’s Jude?”

“Madhuri is trying to talk him out of enchanting your dress to change colour depending on the lighting.”

“The theme is casino.”

“Precisely why he thinks it’s a good idea.”

Not for the first time, she wonders how her cousin has managed to survive on his own as long as he has.

Kaz nudges the back of her head until her neck is straight, then takes a chunk of hair in the middle and twists.  He points to the bobby pins piled up on the dresser, and Lauren drops one into his open palm, feeling him thread it in.  They repeat the process until the French twist is secure, at which point Kaz begins to twirl the remaining strands into little curls that he pins on top of the twist.

“Sister?” Lauren breaks the silence.

“Mother.”

“Ah.”

Belatedly, she realizes this is probably the first time she’s spoken to him one-on-one.  It’s not that they don’t gel together without Jude or Madhuri there to act as buffers, but it’s significantly less awkward.  Lauren relies on others to start conversations, hence why she ‘gets along’ with the likes of Jess and Jude, and while that’s served her interests well over the years, she’s aware that it can be a problem at times.  Especially when the other person is somebody she’s supposed to play nice with.

Kaz pats the top of her head.  “Done.”

Her mouth parts in surprise, and she has to stop herself from touching the updo and ruining the delicate twists that he’s somehow made to look like little flowers.  A few curls hang loose, framing her face, and – has she always been this…pretty?  

She wrestles her shock into careful neutrality, nodding in thanks.

“I can’t do makeup.”

“It’s a lost cause at this point,” Lauren says.  She mimes plugging her ears with her fingers, waiting for Kaz to do so before shouting, “Jude! Dress, now!”

She listens to his bullish steps growing closer and closer, until he storms into her room with Madhuri hot on his heels.  His put-out expression morphs into excitement the second he spots her, and Lauren fights to keep herself from melting into the floor under the weight of his affection. 

“Ren! You’re all grown up, look at you!”

“Oh my god, shut up and give me the stupid dress.  You better not have enchanted it.”

“Just a little!” Jude exclaims, pinching his index finger and thumb together.  “So it shimmers.  Try it on, quick!”

Lauren takes the dress off his hands gently and storms into the bathroom across the hall to shimmy into it.  She’s far too embarrassed to look at herself in the mirror, so she ducks her head on the way back, trying her hardest not to spontaneously combust under the trio’s attention.  She throws her arms out to the side with a huff.

“There.  Happy?”

Madhuri looks back at the dresser and clicks her tongue.  She rubs the outer corner of her waterline – for a hot second, Lauren thinks she’s actually tearing up – and reaches out to press a kohl-blackened finger behind her ear, “Nazar na lage.”

“Huh?”

“To ward off the evil eye.  I mean, you probably have some magic on hand to do that anyway, but…” She shrugs.  

Jude touches her forehead, his magic settling over her like a second skin.  It feels warm.  A thick blanket after a long day out in the snow.  Her eyelids grow heavy, and for the briefest moment, she feels like she’s glitching between two planes of consciousness.

“There,” Jude says, pleased with his work.  “I’ve touched up your protection magic.  Now, I really doubt James or Victoria are stupid enough to try and confront any of you at prom, but on the off chance they are: incinerate first, ask later.”

“I’m allowed to use magic now?” she inquires sarcastically.

“Always, if it’s an emergency.  I’ll be there before you know it, Ren.  You know I will.”

Lauren flushes, averting her gaze.  Entirely by chance, she catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror, and her chest feels like it’s going to explode and collapse inwards all at once at the sight.

A laurel wreath made of gold, nestled in her hair like a crown.

Mom is driving her to prom.

Mom is driving her to prom.

And the crazy thing is, the world is not currently on fire.

The leather upholstery creaks every time Jess shifts in her seat, crossing and uncrossing her legs one over the other.  Mom hasn’t said a word since they left, and Jess is too freaked out by the sudden change in guard to fill the awkward silence with small-talk.  

“You look nice.”

Jess glances down at the pink dress she’d mindlessly swiped off the rack last-minute shopping with Jules.  Nonna spent about twenty minutes complaining about the plunging neckline before Enzo bravely threw himself in the line of fire by offering to make his special fettuccine Alfredo for dinner, which gave Jess just enough time to book it without her noticing.  

“Thanks.”

Mom taps her fingers on the steering wheel as they wait for the light to turn green.  Jess looks out the window, watching the dark clouds slowly roll over the waning moon.  A starless night, even out here where light is so very hard to find.

“Eli would have agreed with Gioconda back there.”

Jess forgets how to breathe.

“The first and only time that has ever happened, mind you,” mom continues, as if she hasn’t just plunged her hands through the scar tissue over her heart and squeezed out all the blood.  “I’ve seen cats and dogs interact with more courtesy than those two.”

Is this supposed to make her laugh? Leave it to her mom to think that halfway to prom is the best time to bring up fond memories of the closest thing she had to an actual parent and expect her to smile and reminisce and pretend like the very thought of him doesn’t take her right back to the pier.

“He had grand plans for your school dances.  Prom was a big one.  If you brought home a date – we always thought it would be Mike Newton – then he intended on meeting him while dressed in SWAT gear.” Mom smiles wryly, turning into the jam-packed parking lot.

Jess can hardly appreciate all the fruits of her labour as prom committee chair when the fairy lights and ribbons and balloon archway have blurred together, amounting to little more than a blob of dark green shot through with wobbly silver streaks.

Fuck.  She should have splurged for the waterproofing spray.

“Neither Vincenzo nor I factored into Eli’s visions for the future.  Perhaps rightfully so.  We might have created you, but we were terrible parents.”

“I still – you and papà are still–”

“Eli raised you,” mom says simply, and Jess hates, hates, hates how knowing she sounds.  How  she has to take shuddering, body-wracking deep breaths to keep it together as the factual, finality of those words sink in.

“Like I said, Eli had visions.  It didn’t matter if you did or didn’t bring home a date, he’d always planned on being the one to give this to you.”

She can barely make out what it is mom digs out from the centre console until she ties it around her wrist and then Jess can’t stop the tears from rolling down her face even if she wanted to.  She draws her shaking wrist to her chest, cradling it with her other hand, and stares at the corsage of amaryllis and jasmine like they’re the crown jewels.

Eli would’ve gotten those for her, too, if she wanted.

“He spent an ungodly amount of time reading up on flower languages for this,” mom murmurs, dabbing the tears off Jess’s cheeks with a silk handkerchief.  “The same way he did learning how to make all your favourite lunches and doing your hair and all the other things one ought to for their child.”

Jess wants to ask so much.  If she misses him, too.  Why she’s bringing him up now after a year of radio silence.  How she expects her to walk into the gym with a smile on her face after all this.

All she can muster, though, is, “Mom.”

And really, that’s all that’s needed.

The water at the city pier is so still it’s hard to believe two vampires swan-dived in less than a minute ago.

Quincy’s irritated expression stares up at him from the pitch black depths.  He sits at the edge of the boardwalk with a resigned huff, leaning back on his arms like he didn’t just teleport nearly a hundred kilometres with nothing but gut instinct to guide him.  Across the Strait, Victoria’s bright nightlife glimmers on the horizon.  No doubt they’ve already made it a quarter-way there, seeking refuge on witch-free, Canadian soil.

Or so they think.  

He can feel his trace slowly ebb the further away they get, where before it was like somebody had shoved a fire-alarm into the base of his skull.  Soon, it’ll be little more than a dull prick on the edge of his senses, akin to somebody throwing bits of paper during class to catch your attention.  The other one is already up in Alaska, and the only reason he didn’t bother confronting him was because of Lauren’s clumsy warning in the form of a hair-tie.

Lauren.

Quincy smirks.  To think that the brat who could barely manage a blessing at Lucy and Roark’s wedding two years ago has come so far.  

He sighs again and tilts his head back, staring up at the cloudy sky as he weighs his options.  Chasing them down is out of the question.  Nevermind how much magic it’d cost him to pull off the shoddy teleportation spell, southern British Columbia is outside of his territory even if he felt inclined to give chase.  He likes Lauren, but not enough to fuck around on non-allied turf.

Not enough yet, anyway.

Which leaves him with option three: set up alarms across the Strait to notify him of their re-entry before his trace catches wind of it.  The plan has a lot of flaws – he has to be mindful to avoid casting near Acamar waters, for one, and he should probably get Tatiana’s permission – but it’s better than throwing in the towel just like that.

He pulls out his Razr from his blazer’s inner pocket and hits five on speed-dial, pressing it to his ear.  There’s a little pause before the other end picks up, immediately blasting his eardrums with screechy 80’s music.  Quincy grins, holding the speaker to his mouth to loudly drawl.

“Good news or bad news first, sweetheart?”

Apparently, proms have themes.

That would have been nice to know.  Granted, it would have been nice to know that she would be attending to begin with, but if somebody had thought to give Bella a heads up beforehand, maybe she could’ve tagged along with Jess to pick up something more suitable for the event rather than let Alice shove her into this undoubtedly designer thing.

There’s no consolation in the fact that Alice and Rosalie are in similarly over-the-top gowns, because they’re disrespectfully gorgeous in everything with their pale, perfect features, trim bodies, and runway-model gait.  All it serves to do for her is highlight all the curves she doesn’t have, the grace she sorely lacks, and her god-awful posture.  

Edward looks at her like he can’t quite believe she’s real, so perhaps he sees something she doesn’t. 

That, or she’s discovered his only flaw – he’s blind as a bat.

They make their way to the dancefloor after letting Eric snap a half-dozen photos under the balloon arch.  Bella’s genuinely impressed by the layout: Phoenix would have rented an event hall and hired planners, and if she didn’t know any better, she’d say Forks found the budget to do the same.  The gym has been transformed into something straight out of a James Bond film, with the teachers as the dealers and freshman weaving around with trays of plastic champagne glasses filled with fruit punch, likely to get a head start on volunteer hours.

“This is a horror movie waiting to happen,” she grumbles, accepting one of the flutes from Edward.

“Well, there are more than enough vampires present.”

“Do you want me to bolt the doors so you can massacre the unsuspecting townsfolk?”

“And where do you fit into that scheme?”

“Oh, I’m with the vampires, of course.”

“You’re more liable to trip over the speaker wires on your way out and spill whatever it is in your head all over the floor than bolt the doors in time,” Lauren’s cool voice interrupts them.

Edward sneers down at her.  “Certainly more than whatever pathetic thing resides in yours.”

“Spare me the theatrics,” she says dismissively.

Bella takes a second to admire Lauren’s dress.  Though simple, the black A-line is beautiful.  She can’t make heads nor tails of the fabric – silk, maybe? – but she loves the subtle iridescent shimmer, and the thin gold chain clinging to her waist.  

She must look like a try-hard clown to her.

“I just got off the phone with Quincy.” Lauren waves her BlackBerry.  “I figured I’d give you a heads up: those two leeches have run off to Canada.”

Relief nearly bowls her over, and she clings to Edward to stay upright.  “So they’ll leave us alone?” she whispers, “If they’ve gone to Canada, then that means we’re safe.”

“For now,” Lauren replies with a shrug.  “He’ll let me know if they return, so you have time to prepare for whatever it is you want to do.”

Jess pops up on Lauren’s other side, throwing an arm over her shoulders and nearly dragging them both to the floor.

“You look so hot!” Jess screeches, beaming at Bella.  “You look–”

“Like a mess?” she supplies dryly.

“I was gonna say like you got into your mom’s closet by accident, but you pull it off well!”

Jess’s face shutters upon spotting Edward.  “Ah.”

“No compliment for me, Jessica?” Edward smirks, wrapping an arm around Bella’s waist.  “You were so generous with Bella.”

“The only thing that’s generous here is the amount of hair gel you’ve got on.  God rest that hairline.”

Furious, Edward opens his mouth to say something vicious, only for Jess to reach out and snag Bella out of his grip and towards the dancefloor.  Edward’s hand clamps down on her other wrist, tight enough to hold her in place.  

“Where do you think you’re taking her?” he asks in a low, dangerous voice.  

Bella tenses.  Lauren might have magic to back herself up, but Jess is only human.  There’s no way she can put up a fight, much less win one, against Edward.  She twists the hand in Jess’s, tugging gently and praying she can’t feel her racing pulse through her skin.

“Jess, it’s fine, we’re going to go out to the veranda and dance.”

Jess rolls her eyes.  “Mike shattered a decanter there a few minutes ago.  Veranda’s closed until they clean everything up, so come dance with us.”

“I can’t dance.”

“Neither can Eric, and look at him.” Jess gestures to where Eric is moonwalking dangerously close to the balloon arches.

“She said she doesn’t want to dance,” Edward declares firmly, “Have a little respect for the will of others.”

“She said she can’t dance, not that she doesn’t,” Lauren corrects, eyes narrowing.  Bella flinches under their sudden scrutiny, torn between drawing closer to Edward for protection and following Jess just to appease her so they can move on.

“One song,” Jess begs, “We haven’t hung out since, like, February.”

“March.”

“Basically February with pastel colours.”

In the end, Lauren decides for them.  One tap on his forearm has Edward dropping Bella’s wrist, and while she assures her on the way over to the floor that she didn’t use magic, she doesn’t believe her one bit.  Why else would Edward agree so easily? 

Bella’s attempts to catch his eye are quickly put to a stop when she’s thrust into the middle of her freakishly tall classmates.  The music is loud and modern and she hates and loves it in equal measures, the same way she hates and loves how her body has a mind of its own, shuffling awkwardly to the beat.  Jess shrieks with laughter, throwing her whole body into it, and Bella can’t help but smile and follow her motions.  Lauren’s movements, like her dress, are effortless and elegant, a simple sway of her hips and bop of her head every so often.  

Bella…likes this.  Dancing.  Even though she’s surrounded on all ends by people, they don’t laugh at her when she flails – they laugh with her, helping her before she trips and giving her the space to freely spin without judgement.  It’s not nearly as scary as her time in ballet lessons as a child, with all those judgy girls and their moms driving her to tears after every stumble.

She does a little pirouette, just for fun, and she doesn’t feel sick at all when she loses balance and collides into Mike Newton’s back.

“Sorry!” she laughs, patting him on the shoulder.

“It’s all good! Hey, y’all!” Mike cups his hands over his mouth to shout, “Varner’s done cleaning the veranda, go be free!”

“Bella!” Jess yells, yanking her close to speak in her ear, “Cheney’s taking song requests, let’s get in line before everybody else does!”

“Okay!” Bella shouts back.

Unable to recall why the veranda being clean feels like important information, she tucks it away for later and allows Jess and Lauren to herd her to the speakers, her spine tingling with anticipation for whatever the night brings.  

Chapter Text

summer interlude i 

Carlisle’s had a lot of things shoved in his face out of the blue.

A positive pregnancy test is, somehow, a first.

“Sniff it and tell me whose it is,” Jude demands.

“I will not.  Urine is also not blood, Jude.”

“Dogs do it all the time.”

“I am not a dog.”

“Bloodhound, bloodsucker, same difference.  Sniff!” Jude waves the stick under his nose insistently.  

Ignoring the confused look Gerandy throws their way, Carlisle struts right past Jude and into Forks Hospital, breathing in the squeaky clean, not urine plagued air.

Jude is wheezing after jogging the scant fifty feet to catch up.  The sight of him struggling is enough to remind Carlisle of those depressing ASPCA commercials, so he slows down for him to get his lungs in order.

“Listen,” Jude rasps after a few moments.  “Either this is my baby cousin’s or my girlfriend’s and both options are terrifying for entirely different reasons.  I haven’t slept in two days because of this.  Help a guy out.”

In an unusually Madhuri-like manner, Carlisle quips, “Isn’t there some sort of spell to figure this out?”

“Probably, but that feels weirdly invasive.”

“And this…doesn’t?”

“Since I won’t be doing it, no.”

Carlisle stares at Jude.  Jude stares at Carlisle.

Snow coughs delicately.  “I take it this is not a good time?”

“It’s fine, David.  How can we help you?” Carlisle inquires, smiling politely.  Snow looks pained as he holds up his pager and says, “Code Orange.  ETA fifteen.”

For once, his absolute stillness is situationally appropriate.  He reminds himself to breathe – or at least pretend to – after twenty seconds of shocked silence, and immediately changes course from the hallway leading to his office to the direction of the ER.  Jude curses under his breath, brisk walking as fast as humanly possible while Snow and his long legs easily match their pace.

“What happened?”

“They were doing some furnace upgrades at the high school when the CO detectors went off.  Don’t think anybody was exposed long enough to do any damage, but they’re bringing all the students here for a checkup just to be sure,” Snow explains.  

If his heart still functioned, Carlisle’s positive it would’ve stopped out of sheer relief just hearing that.  He’s never been exceptionally paranoid, but for a second he was terrified that James and Victoria had decided to announce their comeback with a decidedly human twist.  He wouldn’t put it past them to play with their food; poisoning the water and revelling in the chaos of the townsfolk running for the hills while others dropped like flies.

Alice is certain they won’t return for a while, and although he wants to trust her (he does, he always has) he’s been struggling with accepting her visions at face value ever since Bella’s run-in with the nomads in the woods.  There are too many… convenient holes for that.  She can see the future, but the future can change, or witches have innate defences that make it hard, or some humans are just unreadable.

Carlisle has too much to lose to risk lowering his guard on her assurances alone.

The ER is perfectly quiet when they enter, so, obviously, all three of them are immediately on edge.  Madhuri’s halfway through a messy French braid when she spots them.  She says something to Erika before striding over, drawing the rest of her hair over her shoulder to finish it off.

“Eighty staff and students versus fifteen beds.  I’m not the best at math, but that’s definitely not a pretty ratio,” she says in lieu of greeting.  

“Surely not all of them are coming here?” Carlisle says, running over the staffing numbers for the day.  Even if they summon everybody on-call, there’s maybe thirty physicians and nurses total.  

“Be grateful we’re dealing with summer school numbers.  Imagine all four hundred people pouring in here mid-semester,” Madhuri warns, cracking her knuckles one by one in preparation for the storm to come.  “Screen as they come in – no headache or nausea, they can either stay here and wait for us to check or they can get on the bus to go to one of the family medicine clinics, unless they have a history of cardiorespiratory illnesses in which case they’re staying here even if they’re asymptomatic just to be sure.  From there, you guys know the drill: CO-oximeters, NRB’s, yadda-yadda.”

Jude discreetly pokes him in the ribs.  Carlisle fights the urge to pinch his nose.  While he point-blank refuses to sniff his friend like some sort of mutt, he does take a second to give her a once over because it is entirely normal for friends to do that, especially when they’re still recovering from a concussion and broken ribs.

While her skin is a little paler than usual, he chalks it up to the fact that it’s barely been two months since the incident.  He’s entirely unsurprised with how quickly she’d returned to work because Madhuri is the type of person who cannot function with idle handles regardless of the condition of said hands.  She’s slightly more lethargic than he’d like, but nothing screams ‘expecting’ to him.

“Who’s going where?” Snow’s question snaps him back to reality.  

“Well, we have three CO-oximeters – this is definitely not subliminal messaging for the next departmental budget meeting, by the way.” She raises her eyebrows pointedly.  “So, you, me, and Gerandy on those.  Jude’s the only cardiologist today so he can’t leave his department, and as for Carlisle…any surgeries lined up for today?”

“No, I was going to catch up on some paperwork.  Shall I stay and help?”

“If that paperwork involves my request for equipment, go away.  If not, mind handling the screening with the nurses? Erika’s already got everything in order.”

As he passes by, he makes sure to lean down and whisper, “You are not getting a LUCAS no matter how many times you try and slip it into my files.”

“Oh, come on!”

For the second time in less than six months, Bella finds herself in the emergency room with her father worrying himself into an early grave while a doctor checks her vitals.

Only this time the doctor is her boyfriend’s dad, so things are awkward to say the least.

“Any headache or nausea?” 

“No.”

“You look pale, Bells,” Charlie insists, looking to Carlisle for backup.  “She looks pale, right?”

Carlisle smiles helplessly.  “The lighting here can be a bit of a curse.  I speak from experience.  How about a history of cardiac or respiratory illnesses? Asthma, COPD, atrial septal defect…?”

“No.”

“I think she had asthma as a kid.  You can grow out of that, right?”

“No, asthma is a lifelong condition.  Were you ever on inhalers growing up, Bella?” Carlisle asks her as if he doesn’t have her entire medical file memorised.  The perks of being a vampire, she supposes.  None of them have to take summer school for something as stupid as trig.

“I think I did, but it was for hay fever,” she informs him with great reluctance, knowing full well she can’t lie her way out of a paper bag.  

Carlisle scribbles something on a little duplicate pad, ripping the top off for her to hold.  “Just to be safe, I’d like for you to get checked.  Ah, Erika? Are there any beds open?”

Erika looks as if she’s one question away from committing arson.  She tugs at the knot of hair at the top of her head and ticks off the fingers of her free hand.  “Dr Sehgal’s free in two minutes.”

Dread settles over her chest like a lead apron.  Aside from Jude dropping by after that weekend, by the grace of the one higher power that’s taken pity on her, Bella’s not had to interact with any of them since the incident.  Edward still gets tetchy whenever they’re brought up, so she’s done her best to avoid doing so.  It’s a bit hard considering Lauren works part-time as a tutor for the ninth-grade summer students and they wind up having lunch at the same table more often than not, but they’ve worked out a system involving Jess and Angela acting as buffers.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spots one of Charlie’s deputy’s waving him over.  Charlie clicks his tongue, hesitating until Bella pats his elbow gingerly and plasters on her most reassuring grin.

“They need you more than me.”

“It’s a gas leak, Bells.  If Terry can’t handle that on his own then why am I paying him so much?”

“Ch–Dad.  Come on.  Go put your Chief Swan hat on.”

He waddles off reluctantly.  Bella glances at Carlisle, who gives her the same subdued smile he puts on for all his patients.  It makes her uneasy – does he think she’s the same as them? One of a million ordinary, unremarkable human girls he’s seen fawn over his prodigal son.  No doubt she is, but if he’s so blasé about it then has he seen this happen before? Is he just waiting for Edward to get bored and leave?

“Ah, Madhuri looks free now.  Right there.” He points to a cot all the way at the end of the ER.  

Bella ducks her head and mumbles a thank you as she shuffles off.  

Madhuri’s slouched over, head bowed and forearms braced against her knees when Bella peeks around the curtain divider.  After several minutes have passed, she clears her throat.

“Huh? Oh, sorry.  Isabella Swan, right?”

“Bella.”

“Right.  Pass.”

“Huh?”

Madhuri jerks her chin to the paper crumpled in her fist.  Bella smooths it out as best as she can before handing it over.  

“Alright, take a seat and roll up your sleeve, please.”

Her ears start ringing.  “P-pardon?”

“Oh, I just need a small blood sample to put into this machine.  I promise you, it’ll barely be a pinch,” she says, rolling over a small cart laden with pointy needles and syringes.  Bella stumbles onto the cot, shaking her head.

“I don’t…”

“Are you scared of needles?”

“Blood,” she whispers.  The word alone fills her mouth with a sharp, metallic taste.  Hyper-aware of all the cots around her – all the people having blood drawn – Bella’s stomach clenches, twisting on itself.

Madhuri stares at her blankly.  “You–”

“It’s stupid, I know.”

“It’s not stupid.  Something like four percent of the population has haemophobia.  I was just going to say it’s a little ironic – pardon the pun – given…I mean.” Madhuri uses her index fingers to mime fangs near her lips.  “You know.”

“Edward knows,” she says defensively, “he thinks it’s cute.”

“Okay.  So, how do you normally get blood drawn?”

“I don’t,” she confesses.

“...ever?”

“I pass out.”

“Huh.” Madhuri tilts her head and hums.  “Well, we definitely don’t want that.  Er, you know what? Let me just make a quick call - Carlisle.” She raises her voice a little, loud enough that he’ll hear.  “Need you.”

He pops his head around the divider.  “You called?”

“Do you happen to have a non-invasive CO-oximeter hidden away?”

“No, but I did see you put in a request for one right after the LUCAS,” he responds dryly.

“Unfortunate.”

Understanding dawns in his eyes when he spots Bella.  “Oh, dear.  Yes, Edward mentioned you had a bit of a phobia.  Perhaps one of the paramedics has one in the ambulance?”

“They were paged out literally five minutes ago.”

Carlisle presses his lips together and glances around furtively.  He steps closer and pulls the curtains out more to cover them fully.  “Well, I suppose since all of us are in the know…” he says.

“Shut up,” Madhuri blurts, “there’s no way.  No.  I refuse–”

Bella’s forehead creases as she tries to figure out what she did to offend her.  The skin near her neck prickles, and even though it goes against every nerve in her body screaming no, she finds herself tilting her head more to expose the delicate vessels.  

“She’s clean,” Carlisle reports.  

Bella blinks and straightens her head, rubbing her sore neck.  Why on earth did she do that? 

“What the hell was that?” Madhuri murmurs, eyes lit up with curiousity. 

In a move so uncharacteristic for him that Bella is convinced she’s experiencing a carbon-monoxide induced hallucination, Carlisle taps his nose cheekily and says, “Our senses are incredibly sensitive.  Bloodhounds, if you will.”

“Don’t think I’m letting you off on the other thing, darling.” She waves two fingers from her eyes to his.  “But, importantly, why are we sitting here doing this when you can just sniff-test everyone?”

“It’s hardly subtle.”

“Oh, please, just get Jude to tag along and mess with everyone’s memories.  He can probably do that.”

Bella clears her throat.  Carlisle jolts a little, as if only just remembering she’s there, and plasters on that distant smile from earlier as he turns to face her.

“You’re free to go, Bella.  But if you’d like to stay a little longer to give Chief Swan some peace of mind, you’re welcome to stay in the lobby where the nurses are monitoring the others.  Would you like me to call Edward so he can come and keep you company?”

As much as she desperately wants to say yes, she shakes her head.  Edward coming here would be nothing short of disastrous.  He mentioned getting his MD – twice – and there’s not a single doubt in her mind that he’ll coax her into letting him do blood draws.  Her heart flutters in spite of herself; the scent of her blood is as torturous as it is sweet, and he’s willing to put himself through the flames just to be sure she’s safe.

“I’ll stay in the lobby,” she says hastily, “before that, though, um…which way is the washroom?”

“You son of a bitch.”

His day has officially gone from ‘bad’ to ‘hell in a handbasket’ and it’s not even noon.

“Hello Aunt Moira.” Jude hits the ‘t’ extra hard and smirks as her face contorts with fury.  The age gap between them is nearly equivalent to the one between him and her daughter, a fact that he uses quite liberally to piss her off.

“Don’t you dare call me that.”

“Don’t accost me in public.”

“Oh, you are one to talk about accosting,” she hisses, slapping an envelope to his chest so forcefully his back hits the wall.  “What the fuck is this, Jude?”

He makes a show of peeling the envelope off his chest and slowly unfolding the papers inside.  The ornate letterhead tells him everything he needs to know, but he takes his time pretending to read each and every word, watching her tremble out of the corner of his eye.  

For someone who has gone to truly ridiculous lengths to be the most put-together in the room, Moira is unusually unkempt.  It’s almost disconcerting seeing her looking her full forty years for once; normally, she’s got enough glamour spells on to pass for half that.  Her bleach-fried hair hangs in a tangled knot by her neck, half-tucked into the collar of the designer coat hastily thrown over an off-the-rack tank-top and jean shorts that he swears belong to her daughter.  

A muscle in his jaw ticks, and he has to fight to keep his magic from fluctuating in response to the anger slowly heating up his blood.  He’s not even sure who he’s angry at right now: Moira, for everything she’s done so far; or himself for not doing anything sooner.  

“Seems like a fairly standard tribunal summons to me,” Jude says coolly.  Moira jabs the letter with a broken nail, biting out between her teeth, “Why the fuck are you trying to steal my daughter?”

Steal.  Like she’s some kind of thing to be kept in a storage room until it’s convenient to drag her out.  The fluorescent tube lights flicker overhead.

“Do you even know where Lauren has been these last two months? Was this letter your annual reminder to check in? Make sure she’s been a good little witch, following mommy’s commandments to not cast any spells?” He drives in each point with a push, backing her into the wall on the other side.  He braces his hand by her head and leans in so close he can see the burning hate in his eyes reflected in her own.  

“You don’t know anything,” Moira snarls, “I’m doing this for her own good.”

“I know enough.  We all do.  Fucking hell, Moira, do you seriously think we’re all blind or something?” 

“Every last one of you is blinded by your hatred of me.  It’s turned Lauren against me and that’s why she’s making you do this.”

“Lauren isn’t making me do anything,” he snaps, “I’m doing this because I should’ve done this years ago.  I’ve wasted fifteen fucking years thinking you’d change.  Hoping you would eventually grow up and stop letting all that bitter jealousy rot your mind, but instead, you spent every second of her life drowning your daughter in that poison.”

“You are just as self-righteous as your mother.  Look at where that got her,” Moira spits.  Her pupils thin into slits, and black shadows creep up along the corners of her sclerae.  

Jude allows his tight control over his magic to go lax for just a second – and that’s all it takes to completely overwhelm hers.  

The sound Moira’s knees make as they crash against the tiles is almost as horrible as the ones coming out of her mouth with every choked gasp.  Suddenly aware that no matter how deserted this part of the hospital is, anyone can walk by at any moment, Jude casts a privacy spell and tugs his scrub pants up at the knees before crouching down to her level.

“My mother’s self-righteousness is the only reason you’ve not been dragged before Her Grace and been stripped of your magic.  Mark my words, Moira: my mother will continue to try and see the best in you, but I won’t make that mistake again,” he warns softly.

Jude straightens up and smooths out the wrinkles on his shirt.  Moira has never looked as insignificant as she does now, lost in the bottomless depths of the chasm between their abilities.

“The next time you see Lauren will be at the tribunal.  Until then, stay the fuck away from her.”

Jess crosses her arms over her chest as another shiver wracks her body.

“Holy shit, did they upgrade their AC’s to glaciers from Alaska?” she complains.  When she receives no reply, she bumps her shoulder against Lauren’s, throwing her off balance.  “Hello, earth to Lauren.”

“What?”

“I said – nevermind.  You’ve been all weird these past few days.  What’s up?”

“Why are you following me again?”

“You’re deflecting.”

“So are you.”

“You started it.”

Lauren opens her mouth and quickly snaps it shut.  Taking that as her victory, Jess grins and bounces forward.  Lauren follows at a snail-like pace, one hand pressed to her stomach gingerly.  It’s a good thing they’re in the hospital because she’s seen vampires on Buffy with more life to them.  Jess slows down and inspects her closely.

“Did you bribe them to give you a clean slip?” she demands.  Lauren pushes her away with two fingers to the forehead, and continues her shuffle to who-knows-where.

“No.”

“Should I call Jude? Also, on that note, why did you not tell me your cousin was so drop-dead-gorgeous?”

Lauren somehow manages to turn even more green.  “God, please shut up.”

They continue down the hall in silence, save for the occasional mumbled curse from Lauren, and eventually stop in front of the pharmacy.  Lauren rings the little bell on the counter, and after a few minutes, a tall woman wearing a lab coat with a ribcage drawn on the front pops her head out of the back office.  

“Mrs Cheney?” Jess exclaims.

“Hello, Jess.  Lauren, you look like hell.  I heard about the gas leak – don’t tell me you got CO poisoning?”  

“Worse,” she grumbles, pulling out a folded slip from her pocket and sliding it over the counter.  While Mrs Cheney reads it over, Lauren turns to Jess and explains, “She only teaches AP chem on the side once a semester.  Her actual job is as a pharmacist.”

“Didn’t you already have a course of…” Mrs (Dr?) Cheney eyes Jess cautiously.  Lauren gestures for her to continue.  “Antibiotics? I swear I already filled one for you a week or two ago.”

“Didn’t do shit.  Kaz wrote this one for me and said to also pick up probiotics so he doesn’t have to deal with me dying on the bathroom floor again.”

It clicks just then.  “Ooh, you have a UTI?” 

Lauren stares at her flatly.  “Say it louder, Jess.  There’s still one comatose patient you didn’t manage to wake up.”

“Speaking of Kaz,” Mrs Cheney interrupts before Jess can retort, leaning over the counter and lowering her voice.  “I received a formal announcement in the mail with the details of your tribunal.  How are you holding up, hon?”

“Horrible because my urinary tract is currently on fire.”

“Alright, how is Jude holding up?”

“Ask him, why would I know?”

Mrs Cheney raises an eyebrow and glances off to the side.  “I’ll be sure to do that when he’s less liable to bite my head off.”

“No kidding.” Lauren frowns, looking in the same direction.  Jess peeks around her back, finding nothing but a stray wheelchair and a cart of dirty linens outside one of the rooms being cleaned.  

“Am I missing something?”

“Not really.  Half an hour, then?” Lauren poses this to Mrs Cheney, who nods and waves them off.  

There are a million questions fighting for first place to burst out of her mouth.  The bomb in her chest is one second away from exploding by the time they duck into the washroom.  Lauren splashes water over her face and neck, accepting the paper towels extended by Jess, and resigns herself to The Inquisition while drying herself off.  

“Okay, first off, tribunal?”

“Imagine a town hall except with old people and magic.”

“For what, though? Like, notices were sent out.  That seems super extra.”

“Jude’s filing for guardianship, that’s why it’s extra.”

“But people do that in family court all the time.  Eli told me that the biggest ruckus he’d ever seen outside of Divorce Court was when papà and mom were trying to figure out my custody; but, like, to be entirely fair, it’s not like we did it through the courts for obvious reasons.  Still, notices?” 

A dark shadow falls over Lauren’s face.  Jess hesitates, teetering on a tightrope with no good way to fall.  

“You don’t have to tell me if it’s some top-secret private witchy thing.”

“There’s too much background you need for it to make sense and I’m too fucked up to try.  Just…to put it simply…you’re into Buffy, right?”

“To put it mildly.”

“Right, so the Western Privy Council is essentially the Watchers Council, and you can think of Jude as the Chosen One if the Chosen One was also the reincarnation of the First Evil.  The reason it’s such a big deal is that Jude is the one filing.  Does that make sense?” 

“No,” Jess informs bluntly, “Your analogy makes no sense but I get the gist of it, so I’ll let it slide.  Are only witches allowed to attend or like, can anyone show up for moral support?”

Lauren’s expression turns queasy.  “Do not – look at me – do not show up to the tribunal with your friends.”

“Our friends,” Jess admonishes, “and don’t worry, we won’t!”

Instead, she’ll show up to her house with their friends and throw a surprise party.  It’ll be easy enough to get Madhuri’s number to coordinate, and from there it’s only a matter of securing party supplies and wrangling everyone into setting up.  Mike, Tyler, Eric, Angela, Ella… Bella.  She’s rebuffed every olive branch extended her way and only gotten worse since dating that Cullen freak, but it would be rude to exclude her, especially knowing Eric’s blabbermouth the way she does.  

Besides, Jess is firmly of the opinion that she needs to leave at least one window open for Bella to crawl through when she sees reason and breaks up with him.  

Lauren darts past her into one of the open stalls.  The door swings shut behind her, and a second later, Jess hears her retching.  

“Are you okay?” she asks, alarmed.  Lauren groans.  Jess tiptoes forward and knocks on the door.  “Do you need a hair-tie?”

Lauren says something that sounds like ‘die’, which means either ‘yes’ or ‘no’ depending on how she wants to take it.  She decides on ‘yes’ and tries to open the door, only for Lauren to kick out from the gap at the bottom.  

“Quit being such a lone wolf.  You’re not getting brownie points for suffering on your own!”

This time, Lauren really does tell her to die.  

“Oh my god, are you pregnant or something?”

“Pregnant?”

“Jesus fuck!” Jess screams, slipping on the tiles as she whips around.  She barely catches herself on the edge of the sink, holding on for dear life.

Bella is a deer in headlights.  A dead deer in the middle of the road, actually.  By the time Jess has pried her nails out of the stainless steel countertop and wrestled her soul back into place, Bella shakes herself out of her stupor.  She gapes at the closed stall, wide-eyed like a child who knows their classmates are going to be in deep trouble.

“I didn’t mean to overhear, I was just in here…” Bella holds up a pocket-sized edition of Romeo and Juliet.  

“God, a little warning, Bella!”

“Sorry.  But…is Lauren actually pregnant?”

The witch in question nearly wrenches the door off its hinges, her annoyance ripping through them like a stake. 

“I am not pregnant,” she says in a demonic voice.  “I have had a UTI for almost a month and the last round of antibiotics did nothing but wipe out my gut flora.  Be grateful I’m not blowing out the other end.”

“Oh, ew, Lauren!”

Lauren flips her the bird, resting her cheek against a wad of tissues placed on the rim of the seat.  She looks slightly better now that everything is out of her system.  Remembering that they passed by a vending machine on their way in, Jess runs out and scrounges up enough change for a water bottle and overpriced bag of pretzels, both of which she presents to Lauren like a proud cat with its first kill.  

Halfway through pretzel three of the total seven in the bag, Lauren freezes.  Her eyes squeeze shut, and she slaps her forehead with the side of her hand, mouthing a curse.

“What?”

“Kaz made me take a pregnancy test just to be sure and I left the fucking thing in the trash.”

“So?”

“Severe UTI’s can lead to an overexpression of hCG, which, in turn, can lead to false positives, which is what I got,” she explains miserably, “Jude’s in charge of cleaning the bathrooms.  Fuck me.”

“He might just think it’s the other one’s,” Bella suggests, picking at the post-it’s sticking out from her book.  “Um, Dr Sehgal’s.”

“No wonder he’s been such a goddamn mess these last few days,” Lauren snorts, absently offering the rest of her pretzels to Jess.  “Poor bastard.  I wonder how long it’ll take before he goes nuclear.”

“You’re not going to clear things up?”

“Are you kidding me? This is the most entertainment I’ve had in years.  Absolutely not.”

Chapter Text

Total charges: $359, 934.84

Payments and Adjustables: $359, 934.84

Current Balance: $0.00

Leah stares at the statement sheet until the numbers start swimming around the page.  She squeezes her eyes shut, counts sixty Mississipis, and then opens them again.  

Total charges: $359, 934.84

Payments and Adjustables: $359, 934.84

Current Balance: $0.00

Her aunt and uncle are well-off, sure, but it’s in the way that two lawyers who own a boutique law firm are.  They can comfortably afford week-long vacations overseas once a year, not wipe out over a quarter-million dollars in medical bills even with insurance.  

“Everything alright, dear?” the billing clerk asks kindly.  Leah shakes out of her stupor and slides the bill across the counter.

“Yeah, it’s just…my cousin, Emily Young, she transferred here a few months ago and she’s getting discharged this week.  I was going to come down to ask for an itemised breakdown of the bill and the codes but I just saw this and – how is the balance zero?” she whispers the last word even though they’re the only people in the room.

The clerk, whose name tag reads Susanne, takes one look at the bill and brightens up.  “Oh! Yes, Miss Young.  The McCarty Foundation covered her expenses.”

“The what?”

“The McCarty…” Susanne’s smile fades.  “I’m sorry, were you not aware? Somebody from the department was supposed to contact your family to explain everything.”

Everything below her ribcage turns fuzzy.  Leah leans against the counter and tries not to rip out the few strands of hair she’s yet to lose to stress.  

As grey and blurry as the last few months have been, she thinks she’d remember being told about some mysterious benefactor in a rotting dress swooping in to save the day.  Then again, she apparently applied for some sort of welding program  at some point in the last six months and she has zero recollection of that, so it stands to reason that other life-altering news shared a similar fate.

“Sorry, I’ve been a little…”

“Not a problem, dear.  Happens to almost everyone popping down here because of the stress.  Anything else I can help you with?”

“Yeah, just…how did we qualify for this? I mean, I’ve never even heard of them before today.”

“Honestly, neither had I until they contacted us.  They’ve been around since the late fifties and exclusively cover medical expenses related to bear attacks – very niche, I know.  It’s in honour of the founder’s brother who was mauled to death in the mid-thirties.  The lady who I spoke with told me they were never able to recover his body and it just destroyed his parents.  Bear attacks are so rare that they can often just take care of the whole thing so families can focus on healing.  I know it’s a bit gauche to say, but your cousin is awfully lucky.”

“Right.  Lucky,” Leah echoes.

Susanne is kind enough to send her off with the contact information for the McCarty Foundation, which is just a toll-free number, no website.  It’s too niche for one of those.  Leah stops by one of the phone-boxes in the main lobby and punches it in.  The line trills for a few seconds before the dial-tone drops.

“The number you are trying to reach is currently unavailable.  Please hang up and try again.”

She does.

Six times.

Leah is no Poirot, but she’s starting to think that maybe – just maybe – there is a scam afoot.  Cold anger floods her veins as she imagines some sick fuck inventing this sob story about a dead guy from the thirties, paying off their bills with some financial fuckery that’ll probably bounce in a few months, and getting off on it.  Thinking about their devastation.

They’re dead when she gets her hands on them.  

Her hands are trembling by the time she reaches her car.  Her body switches from freezing to burning so quick she can’t tell which one is making her shake this bad.  Bursting out of her skin will fix this – and before she can stop to question why that makes sense , she’s blinded by visuals of fat and flesh bulging through thick sutures.  Swollen, angry red and mottled purple patches poking out from bandages.  

Emily.

The accelerator creaks as she presses it flat.  The steering wheel wobbles dangerously, but Leah grips it tighter and guns down the highway.  

God, if she hadn’t been such a righteous bitch these last few months, maybe she’d feel less guilty.  All this over a boy? Nearly twenty years of friendship and memories down the fucking drain because of Sam?

Her phone buzzes in the cupholder.  

She will never forgive herself.  She will never forgive Sam for planting the seeds of this green monster in her chest and leaving her to rot and fuel its growth.

Leah finally snaps and grabs the phone when it’s clear that it’ll keep buzzing otherwise.

“What?!”

“PULL OVER YOU DIZZY BITCH!”

“Paul?”

“I SAID. PULL. OVER.”

She veers onto the gravel shoulder, gently easing her car to a stop.  A shiny silver Ridgeline pulls up in front of her.  Paul hops out and holy shit, she barely recognizes him with short hair and an extra hundred pounds of muscle threatening to snap his shirt seams.  

Paul nearly yanks her door off the hinges as he reaches in for her.  

“Are you out of your fucking mind?”

“Get your paws off, Lahote.”

He smiles thinly.  “Haven’t pulled those out yet.  Jesus, Leah, you know they have stunt drivers on controlled tracks for the Fast and Furious movies, right? No need to try and practise ahead of your audition.”

Leah snorts, feeling abruptly formless save for where Paul’s hands are wrapped around her biceps.  He clicks his tongue and drags her over to his pickup, swinging the tailgate open and lifting her into the bed with ease.  

“Someone’s been hitting the gym,” she jokes weakly.  Paul rolls his eyes.  “A toddler with rudimentary hand-eye coordination could bench you.”

He walks back to her car and pokes around the inside and out for a few minutes before returning.  “You have enough in your tank to make it three inches down the road if you budget it nicely.”

“Fuck me.”

“Pass.”

Paul takes a seat next to her, exhaling sharply.  “I’ve got gas I can lend you.  On one condition.”

“I’ll call AAA, thanks.”

“The hot flashes and anger and all that shit…been getting worse lately?” 

Leah eyes him warily.  While the Rez is a tight community and she grew up scraping her palms alongside Paul, she doesn’t necessarily consider him a friend, let alone someone who spends enough time with her to pick up on those issues.  

“You been following me?” she accuses, mentally calculating her chances of breaking his nose and taking off in his car.  They’re slim, but they’re there.

“You wish.  Rez is about a stone's throw in each direction, it’d be weirder if I hadn’t heard how easily you fly off the handle these days.”

“Cousin in a coma will do that to you.”

“Cousin you’ve sat in the same room with, what, twice since this whole thing started?”

Leah punches him in the ribs, and they both jump back with a hiss.  “What the hell?” she snaps, flexing her throbbing fingers.  Paul’s face is pinched tight, tremors wracking his body and causing the truck bed to shake ever so slightly.  Something deep within commands her to remain perfectly still until it passes.

For once, she obeys.

“It’s been bad,” she confesses after several minutes have passed and Paul’s mostly still.  “Like, body shaking, sheets need changing daily, going blind with rage bad.”

“You doin’ alright?” Paul’s voice cracks.  He clears his throat.  “I didn’t…ah, shit, Leah, I didn’t mean to bring up Em like that.”

“‘S’fine.” She shrugs, because there’s a spiky ball rapidly expanding in her throat and any more will have it popping her lungs like over-inflated balloons.  

“‘S’not, but I’ll let you have this one,” he says with an overly broad smirk.  Leah snorts and bumps his shoulder with her fist – which, oddly enough, doesn’t feel like she’s rammed it through concrete anymore.

“You can let me have your gas and we’ll call it even,” she proposes.

Paul rolls his eyes, but he jumps off the bed and goes to grab the red gas can without a peep.

Esme sees pieces of herself in Bella.

The implications terrify her.

Bella is a sweet girl.  Far too reticent to be healthy, yes, but a sweet girl who adores Edward, loves reading, and prefers basking in silence to constantly flitting between novelties like Alice.  There’s nothing wrong with any of that – Esme was initially very pleased at the thought of having someone other than Carlisle to enjoy quiet time with – but the more time she spends with Bella, the less she’s able to shake off the uncanny sensation of watching herself in 1917.

She’d shrugged awkwardly when Esme asked what she did for fun all those months ago.  Initially, Esme blamed it on nerves.  Hadn’t she rattled off the same generic interests – reading and going to the cinema – to Charles’ parents, trying to be as inoffensive as possible to get them to like her? 

But Bella

Perhaps she’s projecting.  Vampirism is nothing short of a miracle, but even it cannot begin to touch the scars Charles spent four years carving into her soul.  Esme often feels as though the tradeoff for the gift of a second chance is forever having a small part of you frozen in time when you turned, and since her final moments were right after a botched suicide attempt…

She might be trying to find patterns that don’t exist. 

She might be the only one who can see the early signs.

Rosalie feels the same way.  At least, Esme thinks she does.  Rosalie has never once considered herself to be anything more than a reluctant roommate, but between them exists a twisted kinship; of those whose inhuman eyes go one step further to find the marks left by their human lovers.  Save for the early days, they have never once spoken of it.  

Except now there’s Bella and Esme wants to believe she’s going insane the way Charles always said she was but Rosalie has a tightness about her face that tells her she’s not that she’s sane and everything she’s seeing is real and she is a coward for wanting to gouge her eyes out to pretend just a little longer.

Because if Bella is the ghost of Esme in 1917 and Rosalie in 1933 then it means Edward is the incarnation of Charles and Royce and she has raised a monster.

(And here’s a secret she’ll take to the grave a second time: Charles was wrong about so much but right about a little.  

She did not deserve what he did to her.

She has always been too scared of burdening others to do anything about it, though.)

Plink

Plink

Plink

…ic…

Victoria disengages her teeth from the homeless man’s carotid and pushes him off to the side with a scowl.  Junkie.  The blood always tastes like a laboratory waste-bucket.  

…ic…

Unfortunately it’s all she has to work with.  British Columbia is too rife with wealthy moguls to risk nabbing even the most ordinary person off the street, and she’s still not certain how those stupid covens operate.  Victoria is strong, yes, but so is every vampire out there – what sets her apart from the rest of those bloodthirsty bottomfeeders is the fact that she is evolved.  She has brains.  Strategy.  A smile that can convince any fool to lick the dirt off her shoes while she bleeds him dry.

The covens will be easy once she has her army.

…argh…

The sound of broken heels scraping against concrete echoes throughout the abandoned warehouse as she paces back and forth.  It’s decently large enough and smells distinctly of fish, though how much of that can be attributed to their proximity to the coastline is beyond her.  What were puddles scattered across the warehouse several hours before have turned into little lake beds on account of the torrential downpour.  The roof will not last the night.

No, this is no place to raise an army.

…Vic…

Victoria stops and snaps her head towards the deformed thing writhing in the shadows.  A mangled stump reaches out to her.

“...Vic…argh…”

She clicks her tongue irritably. 

Right.  She needs to deal with that first.

“Oh, James,” she coos as she approaches, dropping to a crouch just out of his grasp.  “I’m so terribly sorry, my love.  You wouldn’t have liked his blood anyway.  It tasted filthy.”

Whatever that blond witch did in the clearing was permanent.  They’d all had their fair share of near-misses in the past but never anything a little venom couldn’t fix.  This, though…Victoria has no idea where to even start.

She assembled the limbs she could save – entire left arm, upper half of the right arm, left femur and foot, right foot – as best she could, but nearly every inch of him is cracked and blackened, like a statue that’s survived a museum fire.  He opens his mouth to garble her name, and the skin near his lips cracks on their end, twisting into a grotesque, clown-like smile.  The skin begins to mend before her very eyes, but only enough to stop her from seeing his teeth inside his cheeks.

Frankly, she’s impressed he’s made it this long.  Vampires can’t die but there has to be a point at which their bodies just give up.  Venom does nothing but patch up what already exists; it can’t regrow limbs and, apparently, can’t heal witchfire.  

What sort of immortality is this?

“Look at what they’ve done to you, my sweet,” she murmurs, reaching out to stroke his hair.  She stops a foot away, running her fingers through thin air instead, and sighs softly.  “My poor, poor James…what good is that head of yours if you refuse to use it? How many times have I told you to think before you act? Have you learned your lesson now?”

James’ head spasms in a frantic, jerky nod.  Victoria smiles thinly.  To think, all it took was one little hellion with a can of bear spray to put him in his place.

She ought to send her a thank you basket with his head in it.

“You’ve fought so hard all these years, my love.  You deserve to rest now.  Let me handle the rest.”

His eyes grow wide as she rises and takes several steps back.  A horrible, screeching noise warbles out of his mouth.  Victoria watches him struggle to roll onto his stomach, repulsed by the way he contorts like an inchworm to crawl to her.  

Yes.  She is granting him mercy.

Click.

Fwoosh.

His jaw falls to the floor as he tries to scream.  The lighter lodges in the back of his throat, and Victoria watches dispassionately as her lover is reduced to ash.

“Don’t you worry, my sweet,” she tells the ashes, sweeping them up into the homeless man’s shirt.  “I’ll make sure they pay for what they’ve done to me.”