Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The world ends and Bella surrenders to the fire ripping itself through her veins, letting herself fall into the flames and knowing that she will be caught. That doesn’t diminish the sheer agony, though. Venom sears its way through her body from Edward’s bite until her brain is kicked into overdrive trying to process the sensation of being burned from the inside out, the venom lighting every nerve aflame as her body is sent to hell and back. Her turning is all-consuming until it isn’t, one moment alight and the next nothing, a wave of utter stillness washing over her as she gasps for a breath she doesn’t need.

Immediately, someone rushes to her side, Bella sitting up just in time to see Edward racing over. And it’s racing, she notices, not just a blur of barely discernible movement until he appears next to her as if by magic. She sees.

He takes her hand, lips moving and sounds pouring out of his mouth just as her mind catches up to her senses, an overbearing cacophony of noise and light assaulting her. Clapping her hands over her ears, Bella tries to muffle the sheer overwhelmingness of it all, shutting her eyes and willing herself calm, waiting and waiting until soft hands are reaching for her own.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright,” Edward tries to soothe her, dulcet tones flowing smoothly against Bella’s ears as he gently draws her hands away, “I know you must be confused, but everything is fine. Just focus, okay? Tell me what you hear.”

Allowing herself to follow his words, Bella keeps her eyes closed while she concentrates, letting him ground her as she opens herself once more to her senses. “Your voice…other people, talking in another room…the lights, they’re whirring, and…breathing? Someone’s breathing in the living room.” She says the last part with finality, gaining confidence with every word uttered until she is sure of what she speaks.

“Yeah. That’s right. Now, can you open your eyes? Slowly, don’t rush it. Start by looking at the ground, okay?”

Obediently, Bella follows his instructions, turning her head down before she opens her eyes, light flooding her briefly before she blinks, and the world opens before her. Like she’s been stuck watching the world on 720p and now everything is in 4K. The world is beautiful and Bella can’t believe that she’s been living so long with the wool over her eyes. Say what you will about vampirism, but at least it’s got this going for it: she is able to process information like she’s a supercomputer hopped up on a cocktail of steroids, Ritalin, and Adderall with just a dash of cocaine. It is exhilarating.

Blinking a few more times, Bella looks around, seeing everything sharper and more, every line, every crack, every slight imperfection and every detail as her vampiric sight reveals it all to her. The wall has a few dents where someone must have been just a bit overeager, the couch across from her shows signs of being sat on with a slight downward curve, the door on her left is open and looks into room where others are gathered—others, she thinks, and there’s something missing, but her mind is still running too fast for her to catch a thought and hold onto it for any meaningful bit of time.

She focuses again on the breathing, out of place, but it’s important, she knows it. She just has to remember why…

“Renesmee!” Bella exclaims, pushing Edward away with a careless shove even as he flies back several feet while looking around frantically. “Where’s my baby?” Nothing in her immediate sightline gives Bella any indication of where her daughter could be, and her panic begins to mount. What happened? She knows that it wasn’t in their plans to turn her, so surely something terrible must have happened and what if her daughter is—

A hand at her shoulder stills Bella before she can spiral any further. “Slow down, Bella. You’re a vampire now,” a light voice whispers in her ear, “just relax. Keep your senses open. Renesmee is in the—”

“In the living room!” And then faster than she thought possible, Bella is flashing out of the room towards Renesmee’s heartbeat. Behind her, she knows that the other occupants of the room are following her, but she doesn’t pay them any mind, not when her daughter occupies all corners of her mind.

All of her attention is focused on her daughter, Bella unconsciously tracking her breaths until her eyes land on the most beautiful sight she’s ever seen: Renesmee, snoring slightly as she’s gently rocked in someone’s arms. Before she knows it, Bella is in front of her, hands reach out, and suddenly Renesmee is in her arms and Bella is holding her daughter.

“Oh.”

And then Renesmee opens her eyes, face scrunching at the interruption, and the rest of her words die in Bella’s throat. This is her child, this beautiful baby girl brought into the world out of her and Edward’s love for each other, and she is absolutely stunning. She’s just met her, just held her in her arms, but Bella knows that she would give her daughter everything, would see the world burn if it meant that Renesmee was happy.

“This is Renesmee,” someone says, and Bella looks up. Anything she wants to say stops in her throat before she can open her mouth, staring at the person who just handed her baby to her—at Rosalie. The woman looks radiant, glowing in a way that would make angels envious as she looks down at the once more slumbering baby in Bella’s arms.

“She’s perfect,” Bella says quietly, too awestruck for higher vocabulary and Rosalie beams.

“She is.”

Bella smiles, tilting her head to catch Renesmee at a differing angle. She still cannot believe that this is her daughter, that this is her life. Everything is perfect, and her body is nearly bursting with euphoria. She turns, looking for Edward, too excited and wanting to share this beautiful moment with the love of her life, but he is nowhere to be found.

“He’s talking to Carlisle,” Rosalie says. “He’s been by your side the entire change and he wants to catch up on everything that has happened.”

“Oh.”

Her words must carry some weight because Rosalie smiles softly, pityingly at Bella. It’s like a knife in her heart, cutting through her joy even when Bella knows that she should be happy, that she deserves to be happy. She has everything she has ever wanted, and yet something still doesn’t feel right. “He’ll be back. You two need to hunt. The first hunt is always something special,” Rosalie reassures her, a sardonic tilt to her words, but it’s not what Bella wants to hear. Yet, she doesn’t know what it is that she really wants to hear at all.

At the mention of hunting, though, Bella realizes suddenly that there is a burning in her throat. She nearly chokes as the thirst threatens to overwhelm her and she practically shoves Renesmee towards Rosalie as she begins to fear what may happen should she lose control.

Startled, Rosalie takes her daughter into her arms, catching how Bella tries to hold herself away even when it seems to physically pain her. “Edward!”

At Rosalie’s call, Edward comes, rushing to Bella’s side with a wild look in his eyes as he assesses the situation. “What?” His voice is rough, as if he’s shouted himself hoarse, but Bella knows she would have heard it if that were the case. Something else is wrong.

“Bella needs to hunt,” Rosalie answers, shifting her weight to support Renesmee with one hand as she gestures with the other, “and so do you. You two should go.”

Even though Bella wants to agree with Rosalie, her throat burning with an indescribable need, something stops her. Rosalie is making so much sense right now, but she doesn’t want to have to leave Renesmee, too attached after just getting to hold her daughter in her arms, unwilling to see her gone even for this, but then Edward is at her side and pulling her away before she can say anything, grip tight against her arm.

“She’s right. We have to hunt. Come on.”

He speeds up and Bella has no choice to but to follow him out of the house and into the woods. “Where are we going?”

Turning to face her, Edward quirks his lips in the way that Bella had once found so endearing. Now, it looks out of place on his perfect features, twisted into that faint hint of pain hiding behind his eyes until he looks like some facsimile of the boy she had fallen in love with. He shrugs, that boyish charm still present, but somehow it feels off, at once completely like Edward and nothing like him at all. “There are some good spots in the woods to hunt. We’ll just go and your instincts will do the rest.”

Bella nods slowly. “Okay,” she agrees, “what are we waiting for, then?” Then she is zipping through the forest, trees and foliage racing by as she darts away with none of the clumsiness that had so plagued her in life. She doesn’t know where she’s going, but she follows Edward’s advice and lets her instincts guide her as she passes through the forest towards the sound of water. The world rushes by until she nearly flings herself off a cliff, only her vampiric reflexes saving her as she skids to a quick stop just over the ridge to look out towards a waterfall in front of her. A faint mist sprays out, reflecting glittering sparkles of light form the sun and Bella stares, entranced. “Wow,” she says.

To think that for her whole life, Bella has been missing out on this. She’s known about the wonders of the world, has heard about them, and seen them in pictures and videos, but this is altogether on a different level. It’s hard to believe that all of this has been sitting in her backyard and all her life she’s simply been too blind to see it.

“This has been here the whole time?” she asks, not directing her words to anybody in particular, but Edward runs up to her and offers a crooked smirk.

“Yeah.”

“Wow,” Bella says again.

“Yeah,” Edward repeats, “Now—”

He cuts himself off, and Bella stares questioningly at him. His face shifts, a twitch at the corner of his eyes, and Bella turns towards him, unsure of what has caught him off guard until she catches sight of movement across the ridge to her right. Like a latch clicking into place, her head turns a sharp ninety degrees as she watches two hikers emerge from the forest.

“Bella…”

Edward’s voice is low as he places a hand on her shoulder, wariness evident in how he watches her. Bella isn’t sure why until she takes in a deep breath, senses flooding with the overwhelming scent of something delicious, a miasma of distinct flavors that flow into one another like one big bowl of bloody, mouthwatering Hawaiiawn blood punch.

A growl punches its way out of her throat, Bella barely reigning herself in as her instincts scream at her to go, take, feast until her thirst is quenched, but a glance at Edward’s stricken face stays her. Instead, she jerks herself around, back the way she came from, and takes off at a dead sprint, Edward hot in pursuit as she runs and runs and runs.

Overcome, Bella tears her way through the forest, vision clouding red as her instincts finally take over, only coming back to herself in flashes until she finds herself in a clearing, the ravaged bodies of a herd of deer scattered around her. Blinking her vision clear, Bella looks around her, horrified at her display of sheer savagery and bending over to retch up venom as she realizes the extent of her destruction.

“Bella,” Edward calls, and Bella looks up. He approaches slowly, hands held out to show her that he is not a threat, stepping carefully over unmoving bodies to get to her. “Are you feeling more like yourself?”

Is she? What does herself even feel like? Bella isn’t quite sure anymore, but she doesn’t think Edward would appreciate the philosophical question. Instead, her hands drift up towards her throat, the realization that the burning thirst has subsided into something manageable hitting her. It’s still there, Bella is sure that it will never leave, but where it once was a sharp, stabbing pain, it is now more of an itch. Uncomfortable, but not unbearable. “I think,” she croaks out, “I am.”

Edward nods. “Good. That’s good.”

Gazing around herself, Bella flinches at the beauty she had so thoughtlessly marred, unsure if anything this violent could ever be considered good. “Is it always going to be this bad?”

Edward chuckles, shaking his head. “No, not this bad. Maybe for the first couple of years or so, but with practice, you’ll stop feeling so driven by the thirst. It gets better, I promise. It’ll pass before you know it.”

His words are meant to be comforting, but Bella’s thoughts drift immediately to her daughter. She could barely stand herself after one hunt, and she is meant to go through years of this before she can come back to something resembling civilized? It might pass for her, but what about Renesmee? How many years of this, how many years of her daughter’s life will pass her by before she is in control? “And—and while I’m working through the newborn phase, I’ll be like this? An uncontrollable beast?”

Edward’s face twists but he rights himself quickly, as if it never happened and he smiles placatingly. A chill works its way up Bella’s spine at the sight, a foreboding sense of fear for her future as he speaks. “Unfortunately, yes. Newborns are always slaves to their impulses, a danger to themselves and others until they can overcome it. Carlisle believes that it is because of the human blood running through our veins, but a strict animal diet and practice can help mitigate the worst of our—”

Bella cuts of him off roughly. She’s not here to be preached to—she just wants to know. “What does it mean for me? For Renesmee? Am I meant to keep myself away from her until my newborn years are gone? Are you telling me that Renesmee will not know her own mother until I can control this, this beast inside me?” Her heart is breaking, a million shattering pieces falling to the floor as she realizes what her vampirism will mean for her daughter. Her greatest wish, the one thing she has ever asked of Edward, and it is a curse, separating her from that which she loves most dearly.

“Well—” Edward catches himself at the rumble that builds in Bella’s throat, pausing to collet his thoughts as he tries to phrase his next words as delicately as possible. “Well, no,” he admits, “it is likely that under careful surveillance, you should be able to interact with her. We will just have to watch you, to make sure that your thirst doesn’t overwhelm you. Everything should be fine,” he says, as if that is that and everything will be well.

Surveillance. The words twists itself in her gut, sitting so uncomfortably on her tongue that she wants to gag and spit it out. As if she is some monster, some animal that must be watched and held on a leash, some senseless beast that cannot control itself. But as she gazes at the damage around her, Bella knows that he is right. She is a monster. “But what about before?” she tries, desperately. “With the hikers? I controlled myself, didn’t I? When it really mattered?”

Slowly, Edward nods. “Yes, you did. But look at what you did after that.” Gesturing around the clearing, Bella twitches as his hand reveals the horror scene around them.  Edward is right. She hates it, hates him for showing it to her, but he is right.

“I…I need some time to myself,” Bella hears herself saying, her vision starting to cloud and her ears starting to ring as her senses begin to consume her in her uncertainty. “I need to think about this.”

Edward sends her an indiscernible look, but nods. “Of course. I need to hunt as well, anyways. Come back to the Cullen house when you’re ready. There should be at least a few of us around.” To keep Renesmee safe from you, he means, but at least he has the grace not to say it.

“Thank you,” Bella whispers before rushing off, Edward’s words ringing through her ears. She doesn’t know where she’s going, only knows that she needs to get away, far, far away from Edward and Renesmee and everything she can’t have anymore.

When she thought about her future as a vampire, somehow having and being a danger to a child had never been in her calculations. Even then, she had heard about the newborn years, but she never thought that it would be a problem for her. Serves her right, to have the audacity to think that she would be above it. Bella had thought that she would have had Edward, the Cullens, and they have would have seen her through it. She thought that things would have worked out, as they always had before. All she needed was to become a vampire and be with Edward forever.

Now, Bella had the world at her fingertips, everything she had ever wanted, and she had never felt so empty in her life.

The sun is low in the sky by the time Bella gets back to the Cullen house, casting a reddish-gold glow on earth as she approaches the front door. Trying the handle, Bella isn’t surprised as it gives easily. The Cullens would never have to worry about petty things like home security when they could hear everything that ever bothered to even twitch in a mile radius. She makes her way up towards the living room slowly despite the fact that she could be there at the speed of light if she so chose.

Low tones are speaking, and Bella slows even more to concentrate, but it’s just the once voice, and the quiet, steady breathing of another. Edward’s words still echo in her mind, his warning that she could be a slave to her impulses and a danger to her own daughter keeping her at arm’s length.

She stops at the entrance to the living room, watching carefully as Rosalie strides in from the kitchen to the side, scooping Renesmee up into her arms and rocking her slowly as she begins to feed her. The scene is idyllic, a page out of Good Housekeeping or something similar and the sheer domesticity makes her heart ache. She almost starts forward, but her hand drifts up towards her throat as she does so and she swallows, ever cognizant of the latent burning despite her recent feeding.

The desire to see her daughter ward with her fear, but Bella doesn’t have the time to make a decision before Rosalie looks up, cocking her head and turning to face Bella. Her resulting smile is beatific as their eyes meet and Bella is drawn towards her before she can even think.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” Bella lets out what she thinks serves as a flush for vampires, a huff of air escaping her while Rosalie laughs, clear and bright and so very joyful, nothing like the dour, angry woman Bella used to know. Happiness suits her, Bella realizes, and Rosalie deserves it so, so much.

“Would you like to feed her?” Rosalie asks, startling Bella out of her thoughts.

“What? Feed—oh! Yeah. I mean, yes! I would.” Even supernatural speed, strength, and intelligence isn’t enough to keep Bella from acting like an absolute disaster, but Rosalie only laughs again, and Bella smiles. Her smile widens as Rosalie moves to hand Renesmee to her, but fades as she recalls Edward’s words. “Uh, but—do you think I should?”

Rosalie blinks. “why shouldn’t you? She is your daughter.”

“Well, yeah, but I just turned. Newborn frenzy, or whatever. Uncontrollable thirst and crazy instincts. Edward said—”

The gaze that had just moments before been filled with such warmth suddenly turns frosty as Rosalie’s lips curl to expose pointed teeth. “Edward said…?”

“Uh, he mentioned that newborns are never in control, akin to feral beasts in their first years or so, and completely controlled by their thirst. I just don’t want to endanger—”

“Edward is a fool who fancies the world to revolve around him and for everyone’s experiences to echo his. It is, I assure you, not the case. Trust me, if I thought you to be a danger to Renesmee, you would not be standing here.” Rosalie’s voice softens as she continues, “You are her mother. She is your daughter. You will not hurt her.”

The other woman’s calm, unwavering confidence in her elicits a small smile from Bella even as she struggles to accept her words. “But…I don’t even know how to hold her.”

Her words cause a chuckle, smooth and rich and Bella can’t help comparing it to Edward’s sharp, sardonic laugh even as Rosalie shakes her head. “I will show you. Come, sit down.” She guides Bella towards the couch, shifting Renesmee in her arms until they are facing one another before motioning with the hand holding the bottle towards Renesmee. “You want to support the head and neck, and avoid any sudden movements, okay?”

Hesitantly, Bella nods and Rosalie beams.

“Great. Now, I’m going to pass her over, okay?”

At Bella’s nod of affirmation, Rosalie moves, shifting over to gently lay Renesmee in Bella’s arms. Immediately adjusting, Bella redistributes the weight, bringing Renesmee closer to her as her arms shift to cradle her daughter. Renesmee looks up at her, eyes widening before she lets out something resembling a smile. Bella’s heart melts.

“Good, just like that,” Rosalie praises, a spark racing through Bella at her words. “Now, bring her up a little closer, and a little more vertical, getting most of the weight onto one arm so you can feed her.”

The instructions are simple, and Bella attempts to follow them, but she hesitates, unsure of herself until Rosalie sets down the bottle and reaches out. Her hands are impossibly soft, calm and sure as she guides Bella into the right position. Every touch of skin against skin sends sparks racing through her arm, Bella forcing herself to stay still as she is carefully rearranged under Rosalie’s attentions.

She mourns the loss of contact as Rosalie draws away, but brightens when Rosalie offers her the bottle. “Now, just hold it up to her, and Renesmee will take care of the rest.”

Bella nods, bringing the bottle up to Renesmee’s lips. She gasps when her daughter’s mouth opens, gently nudging the tip forward until Renesmee’s mouth seals around it and she begins to suckle. Her focus narrows, centering on the way Renesmee clutches onto the bottle, muscles working to pull in the liquid, Bella’s eyes following the way her throat clenches and releases, ears picking up on the tiny woosh of her meal being swallowed. It’s entrancing, Bella watching the miracle of life itself unfold within her arms and this is her daughter. Her own child, and Bella could not be happier. Nothing occupies her mind except for the sheer brilliance that is her daughter and everything she represents.

Looking up, Bella wants to burst into tears and cries of adulation, sharing her joy with the world, but the room is empty save for her, Renesmee, and Rosalie. Bella squints, trying to concentrate on her hearing, but there is only the rush of the nearby river and the humming of electricity to accompany her, no pitter-pattering of feet to indicate Edward’s return. Her mood dims, but brightens as Rosalie leans closer.

“You’re a natural,” she praises, and Bella’s entire being is suffused with warmth, her joy and Rosalie’s joy intermingling and intertwining into one big, bright ball of rainbows and sunshine and light and happiness and her heart is so, so full. The shadow of Edward’s absence falls away, burned into nothingness by Rosalie’s presence and Renesmee’s existence.

The days pass like that, Edward conspicuously in the background, away from her and their child while Rosalie stands by them like a guardian angel, assisting Bella when necessary and brightening her life by simply being there.

She is there as Renesmee begins to grow, unnaturally fast for a human, limbs lengthening and muscles strengthening, baby fat falling away as she stumbles and begins to crawl in a matter of weeks. One day Renesmee goes all the way across the room to pick up a toy, tossing it into the air to stare in amazement at its arc before it falls flat on her face, and Rosalie is there to pick her up and soothe her as she bursts into tears.

She is there when Renesmee cries, long into the night, holding her and soothing her when Bella is gone, off hunting to satiate her unquenchable thirst, and sometimes when she is there the two of them standing watch through the night for their child. She is there for the first words to form and fall out of Renesmee’s mouth, a curious “Mama?”, side by side with Bella and neither sure who Renesmee meant to call but too overwhelmed to care.

Bella doesn’t know when she starts to think of Renesmee as their child, hers and Rosalie’s, but she knows that it is somewhere between the first and second month, time falling away as she focuses on her daughter and not Edward’s petulant absence. His seeming lack of interest stings, but only because Bella mourns the man she thought she knew and loved.

When he is around, the pain and misery practically emanates off of him, repression fusing with self-hatred into a swirling storm of darkness that Bella is secretly happy stays far away from Renesmee. Her daughter does not need that kind of negativity in her life.

Their paths rarely cross, despite their marriage. Edward is distant and avoidant, nearly recoiling away from Renesmee the one and only time Bella had offered her daughter to his embrace. He doesn’t even bother to make excuses, just leaves, and it breaks her heart, but Bella doesn’t have the time or energy to spend fixating on it.

Because while Edward takes a hammer to her heart, Rosalie is there, picking up the pieces and painstakingly putting them back together, letting her love for Renesmee and her care for Bella fill in the cracks until she feels something like whole again. And when Bella falls in love with her, she knows that it was always meant to be like this.

She’s not sure how it happens, or when, but Bella knows when everything falls into place before her. One moment they are putting Renesmee to bed, Rosalie laying her gently into the cradle opposite Bella before looking up, their eyes meeting, and the world explodes into supernova around her, everything tilting on its axis until the universe realigns itself and suddenly Rosalie is the center of her world, Rosalie and Renesmee and Bella pulled helplessly into orbit around them.

Bella is a vampire now, with eternity by her side, and she cannot imagine spending it any other way but with Rosalie by her side, the two of them slotting into each other’s lives like puzzle pieces, specially made and designed to fit seamlessly together and only with the other.

Rosalie’s love is quiet; Bella doesn’t always feel it, but she feels the shape of what she leaves behind, how Rosalie is loud and bold so that Bella can walk in her wake. She is protective, always, but she leaves room for Bella to grow—a sharp contrast with Edward’s past hovering, the way he cut his way into any conversation and made himself a large, looming presence over anything Bella touched. She appreciates it, the firm but gentle support that Rosalie radiates so warmly and easily beside her when it seemed to pain Edward to even stand close to her.

They aren’t perfect—both set in their ways, and stubborn, too. Bella bases her parenting on her own childhood and the wrongs she vows never to visit on her daughter while Rosalie suddenly has to confront the rose-tinted glasses through which viewed her own childhood. It was loving, but flawed, and she deconstructs it as Bella reconciles all that Charlie and Renee gave her, and all that they didn’t. Together, their experiences, cobbled into patchwork of parenting, resemble something almost like effective child-rearing.

But they argue. Yet, their arguments are a breath of fresh air compared to how Bella and Edward had resolved their issues, which is to say not at all. They would disagree over something, and Edward would assert his perspective, too insistent to take no for an answer, and eventually Bella would relent, too worn down to argue anymore. This sad excuse for conflict resolution has followed them into their marriage, except now Bella has agency and refuses to yield mindlessly to Edward’s will, which only leaves them a cavernous valley of empty words.

Bella doesn’t mean to, but she cannot help but compare Edward to Rosalie, and find him endlessly lacking. That becomes the focal point of their arguments, Edward raging that someone would have the audacity to raise his daughter when he chooses to ignore her, and Bella refusing to relent when he pushes.

Every interaction Bella has with him causes Rosalie’s mouth to twist into a half-snarl of distaste, lips pulled back just far enough to show sharp, sharp teeth. Before, before this marriage that Bella never even wanted and this child that she wants almost too much and husband that doesn’t seem to want her at all, Bella would have been offended. Now, she is just tired, and the only moments of peace she can find are in Rosalie’s arms and Renesmee’s presence.

All her life, Bella has looked for a fairy tale romance, a prince to take her away from Renee’s endless flights of fancy and Charlie’s distant aloofness into a land of everlasting love and affection. Because while she knew that her parents loved her, they were never very good and showing it, and she wanted more. Wants more, and deserves more, the kind of love that sweeps her off her feet and makes her giddy inside, warmth encompassing every inch of her body because she knows that she is loved—because her prince chooses her. Her to love, to hold, and to have, forever.

She was starved, Bella realizes, which made her so susceptible to Edward’s overbearing love because it was the antitheses of the kind of love that had left her feeling so unfulfilled in her life. The lonely love that had been the first sixteen years of her life, and Edward was the opposite. Was it any question, that she should fall so hard?

Rosalie is not that kind of love. Could never be that kind of love. Edward was all-encompassing, surrounding Bella at all moments of the day and at times, suffocating her. He was everything, everywhere, all at once, and Bella had loved that. But she is not that teenaged beauty who fell in love with the beast all those years ago. She has perspective, which she never would have found if it weren’t for Edward’s own self-righteousness, and she can’t say that she misses him at all anymore. She misses what they once had, the adoration she had for the man she thought he was, but that love was built on false foundations. She isn’t that girl anymore, and he never was that man.

It is sad, Bella thinks, how quickly their love has died. She would mourn it, but Edward’s callousness means that there is nothing left to mourn and she is just so tired of holding onto something that never existed to begin with. She has better thing to do, Bella muses, staring out into the woods behind the Cullen house where Edward had disappeared hours earlier.

Standing up, Bella decides to go find one of those better things. Rosalie is supposed to be with Renesmee right now, and Bella is looking forward to being in the presence of her two favorite people in the world. She takes her time at first, walking slowly through the house at the pace of a normal human, but then she hears a giggle, and she doesn’t care to keep up the pretense anymore, speeding up the stairs and towards the room where Rosalie and Renesmee are.

She gets there in time to see Renesmee hurl a plastic toy at the wall hard enough to dent it, Rosalie sitting beside her and indulgently handing her another toy. Renesmee toddles over quickly to pick it up before tossing it at the wall just as eagerly and Rosalie claps, Renesmee giggling as she does so. “Wow!” Rosalie exclaims, and Renesmee’s giggling intensifies.

“Waa!!”

Rosalie claps her hands again as Renesmee attempts to imitate her. “Very good, Renesmee!”

“Waa!” Encouraged by Rosalie’s praise, Renesmee claps her own hands and makes her own sounds, trying her best to be just like Rosalie.

The sight pierces through Bella and her breath hitches.

The next moments happen in slow motion; Renesmee turns to see her and beams, shouting out a delighted “Mama!!” and begins waddling over to her. At the sound, Rosalie turns instinctively, head whipping around to catch Bella’s eyes and as liquid gold meets her gaze, everything falls away.

Chapter Text

It is not that Rosalie does not like Bella—she simply does not like the woman that Bella becomes around Edward. She resents herself for feeling that way, for the judgements she makes as she pares the two of them together, but Edward is the man that Carlisle had turned her for, and Bella is the woman that Edward refused to turn for himself. It is the lack of agency that galls her, the way that their choices have been stricken from them to suit the whims of men. She loves Carlisle, because he is her father and sire, and she loves Edward, because he is her brother. She hates them, too.

It is complicated.

Although she loathes the Bella-that-is when Edward is around, it is nothing compared to the sadness she feels when Bella becomes than herself for her brother, or the way Edward forces himself to bend and twist into so very many shapes that do not suit his vampiric state of being in order to appease his human sensibilities. The two of them are made for each other, in a perverse sort of way; Bella is unwilling to stand her ground, and Edward is unable to change or grow. The two of them are perfect, twisted complements in a tangled mess of misunderstanding and miscommunication.

When Bella’s pregnancy came to light, Rosalie did not know how to feel. Bella, by all accounts, had not wanted children, had not cared one bit about what she was giving up in her pursuit to follow Edward into eternity, and Rosalie had hated her for how casually she threw that away. Hated herself for it, too. Call her petty, but all Rosalie could see in Bella’s ridiculous naivety was her own self, decades in the past and doomed to a cold, unfeeling life of loneliness.

But then Renesmee had come, and Rosalie’s walls of ice had melted into the ether, evaporating until there was no trace of them ever having existed at all. Rosalie melted, and Bella was right there alongside her, cherishing and loving her daughter, but also willing to share. That would be the greatest gift of her life, and it would come from Bella-fucking-Swan.

Motherhood is a joy, but it is also a burden, one that was never meant to be shouldered alone. Rosalie is more than happy to carry it with Bella, and she knows that the only reason is afforded the luxury of doing so is Edward’s pathetic inability to be anything but a deadbeat dad, ignoring his wife and daughter in favor of wallowing in his own pain and misery. It is sad, but Rosalie cannot find it in herself to pity him when he is such a disappointment.

If it were her in his place, she would never reject such a gift, and the fact that he is so willing to do so shows just how unprepared he was for a wife and family despite his childish insistence. But in her heart of hearts, Rosalie fears for the day that he will realize this, when will see all that he has, offered to him on a silver platter, and finally take it. Take it for himself and away from her because there is only so much room in Bella Swan’s life for love, and Rosalie is living on borrowed time.

All her vampiric life, Rosalie had been selfless. Perhaps it was to make up for the indulgence of her past life, but she has always done what is expected of her, following her family and doing as she was bid despite her own desires. Her own dreams of motherhood pushed aside to soothe Esme’s motherly sensibilities, her wishes for freedom and independence and some goddamn peace and quiet thrown to the wind in order to entertain Alice and shield Jasper, to placate Carlisle and assuage her guild for what she had doomed Emmett to in the hopes that he would match her—Edward, she is loathe to say, reminds her too much of herself. They are two sides of the same coin, except while he took and demanded in his grief, she hardened her heart and left it at the door because it was easier than addressing her inner turmoil that so closely mirrored his.

It was easier, to giver herself away, and pretend that it did not hurt even as she ripped herself into pieces to appease her family.

But in her pursuit to be the perfect daughter, Rosalie had lost the “daughter” part, closing herself in ice to present a façade of perfection even while she yearned to truly be part of the family. She wanted it so, so badly, but she knew that she could never handle the rejection if they saw her for who she really was and decided that she was not worth it. Better to take the choice before it could ever be made, to seal her heart and pretend like it did not matter when even her own family saw her as the cold, cruel girl with nothing to lose. Easier, to pretend like she did not care.

Easier until Bella Swan and her clumsy, fumbling human seduction of her useless brother and with it the light she brought to their family. Until she had a daughter the one thing Rosalie could never have, and Rosalie’s life was irrevocably changed, intertwined with Bella’s for better or worse as they raise Renesmee together.

The time after Renesmee comes into the world passes in a whirlwind. She watches as Renesmee grows and grows and grows and she is finally happy, her heart and home full to bursting with everything that she could ever want. She pushes the harsh, bitter thoughts of her family that have haunted her for years away because Bella needs her, those sad, red doe eyes looking up at her while she waits and waits for Edward to come—but he never does. Instead, Rosalie is there.

She is there, always there, teetering precariously on a knife’s edge as she waits for it all to be ripped away from her, for Edward to come to his senses and for Bella to push her out in favor of the man she loves, her husband. One day, the other shoe will drop, and Rosalie will weep.

Until then, Rosalie will be there.

The weeks come and go, and before she knows it, Renesmee is toddering her first, clumsy steps across the living room, tripping and falling but pulling herself back up with determination and Rosalie feels tears of venom pooling in her eyes at the sight. The sight is more beautiful than anything she could possibly conjure in her mind, and Rosalie realizes that all she wants to do is share it with Bella.

The thought shocks her at first, the fact that it is not just Renesmee that she wants to share, but that it is Bella she wants to share her with. Renesmee is her world, and Bella is who she has built it all with. When it all crumbles to dust, Rosalie does not know how she will remain standing in the wreckage of their home.

“Bella!” she calls, and as if summoned, the woman appears, hair flaring out behind her as she comes to the doorway.

“Yes?”

“Look.”

Bella cocks her head, peering uncertainly at Rosalie before her attention is drawn to the movement at the corner of her eyes. She looks.

“Mama!” Rising onto unsteady feet, Renesmee is there, taking her next steps towards her mother, and Bella is already moving to meet her. She falls to her knees, embracing her daughter as for the first time in her young life, Renesmee is there to meet her halfway.

Watching on from her place beside the couch opposite the door, Rosalie feels no jealousy, perfectly happy to let Bella bask in the moment from the sidelines. She only feels a pang in her heart as her traitorous mind wonders how long it will last, how many more of these moments she will get to be privy to. And then Renesmee turns to face her, those beautiful doe eyes she inherited from her mother blinking up at Rosalie as she calls, “Mama too!!”

The conviction behind Renesmee’s words forces Rosalie to her knees, a hand slammed into the couch the only thing keeping her upright with a fist-sized indentation as evidence of her loss of self-control imprinting itself into the leather. “Me?” She points to herself, hoping beyond hope that Renesmee means her.

“Mama!” And then there are thoughts, flashing through her mind, memories, Rosalie realizes, of her and Bella ant their daughter. Their daughter, who they have shared and raised together since the first days of her life, and it all makes so much sense now. The small, feeble bud of hope in her chest blossoms into a vibrant piece of joy, alive as it spreads through her body.

She is not a placeholder. She is not there to fill the gap of Edward’s abandonment until he comes to take it all away. She is Renesmee’s mother and Bella wants her.

The past years of her life, Rosalie has felt a deep, yearning absence despite the gifts and luxuries she has been blessed with. She never let herself get attached, too fearful for what would happen when it all gets ripped away from her. She never let herself care because nothing had ever felt right, nothing worth fighting for, everything just slightly out of place, like puzzle pieces forced together until the picture was one jumbled mess of incoherency.

But now, with Bella and Renesmee, everything feels right. There are no more square pegs in circular holes because everything is finally right where it is meant to be, and the emptiness in her soul is filled for once in her cursed life. She is in love, she realizes dimly. In love with Renesmee and in love with Bella and in love with the life they have made together.

Their life—her thoughts flash to Edward, of what he is missing out on, and she is sorry. Sorry for the sad excuse of a life he is living, for how he has kept himself from ever experiencing the pure, unadulterated happiness that Rosalie now feels. But now that she has a taste of it, Rosalie does not plan on ever giving it up without a fight. If Edward wants to reclaim his place in Renesmee’s life, he is welcome to try, but Rosalie is not going to just roll over and let him have it anymore. She protects what is hers.

A dark part of her mind reminds Rosalie that although Renesmee is hers, Bella is decidedly not. Not hers to love, and not hers to keep. Bella might be raising her daughter with Rosalie, might be willing to let her take on the role of another parent, but Bella could never love Rosalie, not when her heart belongs to Edward. Their marriage might be imploding before her very eyes, but Rosalie knows that she has never been but a blip in Bella’s radar until Renesmee. Even when he fails to do anything to deserve it, Edward still holds his place in Bella’s heart—a place that Rosalie will never be able to fill.

She wants to have it all, to have Bella and Renesmee to herself, but Rosalie knows that such complete and utter fulfilment is not for her. Something burns in her chest, and Rosalie wonders if this is what heartache feels like. But she does not need to have it all, she resolves. Her life before this had nothing. She had nothing, but now she has Renesmee as a daughter and Bella as a companion, and neither is a consolation prize. Wanting too much has never served Rosalie well, so she will content herself with having just enough.

She will cherish Renesmee, the absolute blessing that the child is, and thank Bella for giving her the chance to raise her as her mother. Her feelings for Bella Swan have no role in these proceedings, and they will play no part in Renesmee’s life. This, Rosalie promises herself. For their daughter.

Normally, Rosalie would be concerned about her privacy as these thoughts run carelessly through her mind, but Edward had run off to Alaska last week and forgot to even mention it to his own wife, so the sanctity of her mind is complete. She does not bother to hold back the disgust she feels for the weak, pathetic man that is her brother because her heart breaks for Bella, who loves a man that cannot even cherish his own family. Rosalie could never imagine such callousness for those she proclaims to love, and she would never inflict it on her own family.

Every day, she watches as Renesmee blossoms under Renesmee’s attentions, and how Bella blooms under Renesmee’s easy adoration. She also sees how Bella keeps her guard up, always tense, eyes masked by some nebulously dark emotion, and she knows that it is Edward’s fault, the absolute thoughtless moron that he is.

Rosalie hopes that her presence soothes Bella, that she can provide some semblance of peace for the other woman in the absence of her husband, so she tries. Tries so very hard to be there for her, to see to her every need and help her through the trials of the newborn process and to be there for her daughter. She wants to do more, wants to scream out to the world and Bella, “Love me!”, because her love will never die, will never wilt in the face of adversity, and she will be all that Bella needs and more.

Such fantasies play painfully through her head, but Rosalie knows that they will never come to fruition. So she will love Bella in the background, ardently, but silently. Rosalie will never be found lacking, not by Bella, and that is enough.

Slowly, it seems to work. Bella smiles more, looks at her with something resembling affection in her eyes, and Rosalie curses herself for her stupidity in thinking that Bella Swan’s love was ever a waste. It is a treasure, and Rosalie wishes it were meant for her and not Edward Cullen.

When Rosalie finds herself one day watching Renesmee throw trucks at the wall with a vengeance, she wishes vindictively that it is Edward’s useless head she is chucking them at. Bella would disapprove on the outside, would chastise Renesmee for it, but there would be that ghost of a smile, playing at the edge of her lips, and Rosalie would know that she appreciated the thought, no matter how impossible for Renesmee to understand the effects of her actions. So, Rosalie claps and cheers Renesmee on for her.

And then Bella Swan herself comes to the door.

Rosalie feels her presence, senses the change in the air, and looks up. The sheer yearning she sees reflected in burning eyes startles her, freezing her in place. The truck she was about to hand to Renesmee falls to the ground with a clatter on the cold hardwood floor as emotions she had thought she suppressed come roaring to the surface.

Her mind is too full, too overcome with words and emotions flying recklessly into carefully constructed walls built to cut her off from the world, battering against them until they fall to dust and Rosalie opens her mouth. She has so much to say, and she wants to say it because her heart is suddenly filled with that careless, heartless thing known as hope. She wants to throw open the gates, bare her heart to Bella Swan and she there is so much hope that she barely recognizes the woman reflected in Bella’s eyes, and then Alice bursts into the room.

“The Volutri,” she says, and everything falls to shit.

In the flurry of preparation for the incoming confrontation with the Volturi, Rosalie sees Bella, occasionally, but she never really sees her. They are too busy, calling in favors and shoring up allies and one of them is almost always with Renesmee, but that is exactly the problem.

They are never in the same room together alone. Rosalie is too busy caring for Renesmee and helping Carlisle and Alice find people to back them up about the innocence of Renesmee’s existence. She is in a constant state of panic and fear, terrified about her daughter’s fate, but she has nobody to share it with.

Bella is busy, hunting and training and it is equally terrifying thought, to know that Bella is honing her gift into something that might be able to protect them from the overwhelming might of the Volturi at 19 years old, too young to have to face the most terrifying vampire force that walks this earth in defense of her daughter.

Rosalie does what she can, but she has no exceptional gift, no talent for anything except being a mother, and even that is in danger, and she has no fucking idea what to do. She feels useless, and she hates feeling useless, hanging on by a thread for the sake of her family and Renesmee.

Edward’s return does not help matters, the sad excuse for a man back to ostensibly protect his family except she knows that he has not even bothered to talk to Bella, instead spending all his time with the Denalis. Rosalie is furious at him, seething with rage at how his presence makes Bella, who is working so, so hard to train her shield with Kate, slump every time she sees him, but he does not acknowledge her. Rosalie would be more concerned at the company he is keeping except everyone but him and probably Carlisle know that the sisters have their own thing going on and Rosalie is personally aware that Tanya is not nearly as interested in pathetic century old once-virgins as Edwards seems to believe. The sight of him still sends her into a burning temper that only Renesmee or Bella could calm, except she never gets to see Bella at all and she is so, so angry.

Their interrupted conversation has been put on hold indefinitely and Rosalie is eternally on edge, pent up from all the things left unsaid while trying very hard not to think about the quite frankly massive vampire presence that Carlisle is amassing in the area or the fact that they may be about to go to war with the Volturi. Or that she might die without getting to tell Bella that she loves her, and that is a travesty.

Logically, she knows that their numbers are meant to be a deterrent, to minimize the chance of bloodshed or her family getting squished like a particularly irritating bug under the heel of the Volturi, but Rosalie cannot help but fear the worst, running numbers and contingencies in her head as she wonders how they would are against the Volturi’s carefully curated Guard. But the numbers do not lie, and Rosalie knows that the only way that they will have any hope of coming out of a confrontation alive is if Bella can improve her shield—their fate hinges on it.

When Alice leaves, Rosalie wonders if all hope is lost. Her sister gives no indication of where she has gone, and Rosalie is left to pick up the pieces as Bella becomes more despondent, more withdrawn as she works twice as hard with Kate and talks to nobody but her daughter. Her shield is still a paltry thing, barely able to extend to an individual beside her, and Rosalie wants to tell Bella to run, to take their daughter and get far, far away from this place, but she knows that it is futile and curses her weakness, wishing that she could do more to protect her family. Protect their daughter.

Their daughter, who has gone from an infant to a toddler to a small child in a dizzying span of months, who has taken an active role in defending her very existence in the world, who is not ready but is so very brave for trying—Rosalie adores her and knows that she will throw herself into flames at her loss—but then the choice may very well not be hers to make. She begins to spiral.

When the Volturi come, they are not ready. Rosalie is not sure if they ever would have been ready. They still stand, though, lined up together, their motley crew of vampires from around the world, and wait to face their fate. Rosalie is besides Renesmee, ever aware of how exposed they are as the Volturi’s forces converge in a harrowing wave of black, and her grip on Renesmee’s hands tightens.

On the other side of Renesmee, Bella stands, mouth set in a hard line. Rosalie knows that she has internalized this, that she thinks this is about her, and it is. It is also about the Cullens, and Rosalie’s family, and power, but mostly about them. She can feel the tension, can feel how Bella tries to push out her shield, feels the sliver of protection pushing against her, and she leans into its domain. “I believe in you,” she whispers, the first thing she has said to Bella in days, and Bella looks at her for a moment, mouth open, eyes wide. She nods.

Then she blinks, and suddenly a wave passes through Rosalie, a near imperceptible burst of energy racing out of Bella, expanding and expanding until there is a faint pop and they are all encased in the warm cover of Bella’s shield. Rosalie gasps, turning to look at Bella with awe in her eyes as that dying ember of hope flares to life within her—

When the Volturi leave, Rosalie knows it is not the end. They may have overplayed their hand, and the Volturi may return in a scant few years to wipe her family off the face of the earth, but her relief is bone-deep when they depart in a dramatic swirl of black cloaks anyways. No matter how tenuous it might be, they are safe, for now.

Her hand has remained in Renesmee’s grasp throughout the entire ordeal. When it is over, Rosalie turns to her and Bella and they embrace, each holding on tight with tears left unshed as they reassure each other that they are all there and alive. Her grip tightens, and Bella hugs her back twice as hard, Renesmee between them. Euphoria rushes through Rosalie, and when the three of them pull apart, the words she has known in her heart for months, has wanted to speak for weeks, and has been ready to say for days but never spoken are on the tip of her tongue—now is the time, finally, and she has so much to say, so much to tell Bella because they can finally be together, at peace, just the two of them—a chagrined cough interrupts her before she can even open her mouth and Rosalie directs her glare at the interloper.

All the others have left already, their work here done, minus one. Edward. He opens his mouth, and Rosalie nearly lays into him then and there. Only an arm slipping around her waist stays her wrath, Bella at her side with steely determination in her eyes, and Rosalie chooses silence, not violence. She still continues to glare, though.

“I am sorry,” Edward says, and Rosalie’s eyes narrow.

“For interrupting,” he clarifies, “and for how I’ve treated you, Bella. And Renesmee, my daughter.”

Renesmee is not his daughter, but Rosalie does not need to say the truth that they all know. She waits. After a moment of silence, Edward only sighs. He shakes his head. “Not my daughter,” he corrects. “Not really. Not ever, to be honest. I know that, now. I am sorry.” He crouches down to direct his next words to Renesmee, who nods too solemnly for a girl her age, “Words cannot make up for how I have failed you, but I hope that one day I will be able to be someone that you can love.”

Renesmee, bless her heart, is too kind, too good, and she forgives Edward immediately. She forgives him because she has never been wanting for love, and so she does not know the extent to which Edward has wronged her. She supposes he has him to thank for that, she thinks bitterly, because Rosalie and Bella were there to fill every absence of Edward’s with twice as much love and affection. “I understand,” she says, “I look forward to the day.” She holds out her hand for him, and what he sees must be enough because he dips his head, closing his eyes, and smiles. It is genuine, reaching his eyes in ways that have not happened since Bella’s turning, and Rosalie finds that she is truly happy for him to find his peace.

Edward nods. “As do I.” Standing, he raises himself up slightly before sinking lightly into the plush slow. “And Bella—”

“I know, Edward,” Bella says, cutting him off. All she sounds is tired.

If Edward could flush, Rosalie knows that he would be scarlet, but he only hangs his head. “I am sorry. I think we both know that I have a lot of growing left to do, and I’m sorry for pushing you into something that I myself was not ready for. I have been talking with Tanya, and she thinks that I need to learn what it means to live again, truly. To find myself, and live for myself.” He runs his hand through the chaotic mass of hair that Rosalie knows Bella had once adored, blinking twice before shaking his head ruefully.

“As it is, I’m not somebody that can ask much of anyone with how I’ve dealt with everything. I hope that you can at least accept my apology, and that one day we will be friends again.” He does not say more, does not imply more, and for that, Rosalie softens at her brother.

“Edward,” she interjects, and he looks up at her, golden eyes filled with defeat. “You have squandered what good has come to your life, and only realized it too late.” His gaze clouds with hurt, but Rosalie continues, trying to convey herself as kindly as possible, “You will never have what you once had again. But I hope that you will one day learn to accept yourself and love fully, because you are the person that someone will some day fall in love with. When that happens, I wish you the happiest of loves.”

It is not much, but Edward lights up with relief at Rosalie’s words. “Thank you. You don’t know what that means to be, but thank you.”

Rosalie does, actually, because Bella was the catalyst for her to make the same realization, but she keeps that to herself. “Of course, brother,” she says instead.

He nods to her before turning to Bella, waiting for her to speak. It takes a while, but Bella finally shakes her head sadly. “We’ll see each other again,” is all she says. There is too much for them to unpack, too few words for her to express what she means. Edward looks disappointed, lips tilting into a pout, but he nods. That, perhaps more than anything, shows Rosalie signs of his growth. There is hope for him, and hope is good.

“One day,” he agrees, and then he is gone.

Alone, it is just Bella and Renesmee and Rosalie. Renesmee looks between her mothers, and her lips quirk into a smirk that she did not inherit from either of them. Really. “I’ll be waiting for both of you at the house,” she says. “I love you, moms.”

The walls surrounding Rosalie’s heart have long since crumbled to dust and faded away into nothingness, but Renesmee’s acceptance is a balm on her anxious soul. She did not know how much she needed the reassurance until she had it, but Rosalie is thrilled that their daughter sees and accepts them for what they are.

And then she is gone, too.

It is just Bella and Rosalie, together.

For a while, they do not say anything, the two of them standing side by side, watching as Renesmee steps her way through the snow towards their home. She looks happy, and it is all Rosalie could have ever asked for. They stand and watch until Renesmee steps inside before Rosalie takes in a deep breath she does not need and turns towards Bella.

Her movement is mirrored, Bella taking Rosalie’s hands into hers as they face each other. Their hands fit together perfectly, fingers interlocking into a seal as Bella raises them to her lips. “I love you,” she says simply. “I love you and you have shown me how I deserve to be loved, and I will never ask for more than you are willing to give, but I want you. I love you, “Rosalie Hale.”

Their love is a foregone conclusion. It was always meant to be, but it still feels so satisfying, so perfectly right. Rosalie Hale will always love Bella Swan, and they will always find their place with each other. Nothing could ever keep them apart. “I love you too, Bella.”

There is more to say—there is always more to say, but for now, this is enough. Hand in hand, they return home as one.